Sunday, January 4, 2015


Christmas has let go, finally, and the sweet and bitter holiday will soon be gathered up and put away in boxes. Such a tinseled mixture of consumerism and love, junk and dear memory. It hurts so to know the cost of too much, but how resonant my childhood Christmas memories, the time with my own children and then my grandchildren.  We all laughed together in the darkness of the Winter Solstice; we decorated the tree with bright lights, we ate sweet food and lit our fires.

today is a colloid

grey thoughts floating

in a loose,  January fog

somewhere ahead, a focus

Wan grasses straightened alert in ovals of melting snow. That old board emerges as I squint to see the lost broom, coming out next to the car. It's only January: winter will freeze it all soon again.  Off in the distance, South Sister is gathering more snow from crowning clouds.

On the porch, a calligraphy of brisk junco tracks and one big boot print. Easy to see who ate the bird seed and who brought in the wood.

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