grass in snow

my attention cannot be everywhere. I choose, and sometimes I forget to choose. look. 



I have almost finished Christmas presents–

 all of them semi- or all-homemade.

 What else to do but work work and wrap and plan?

 but snow drifted down today

 reminding me

 I don’t always have to

 do something

 but I can


 A fallen leaf on ice

 forgetting photosynthesis

 as a setting sun flickers.


it is snowing outside, and it is April

and people protest: this is spring!

I remind them: spring has always held snow

for the growth starts with frost

the petals only come after dormancy

and though the world may seem yellow,

it is fringed with green.


We are fishing, even though it is too windy to fish

I don’t care and I never have:

it’s not about catching the fish, but about being

out in the world, remembering the

breath of wind, fresh air

I am surrounded by invasive species

and the remnants of fishing: line, hook, worm can.

I sit in a dusty camp chair

with a hook full of bread

aimlessly drifting.

dead leaves

look at the small wisp of green, peaking out from detritus and snow. it makes me want to run around, all sappy-like, talking about hope and joy because the cliched dead winter is ending, and I get fresh air and sunshine. except for I’m stuck in an office typing on a typewriter because the computers won’t work.