Red sky in the morning.
j. laster

A dusting of snowfall transports me to distant winters and the stillness of early mornings at the edge of a wilderness.

On the trail.

The whisper and long shhhhhhhhh of skis on new snow.

Gravid sky.
j. laster

Impending weather and the stillness between acts.

Winter blues.
j. laster

Winter sky that is the blue of yearning.

The weight of winter.
j. laster


Clear light glints,
collects, worries loose
long ice teeth from the sloping
tin roof,

birds drop, I glimpse
uneven triangles of wing,

swinging under red branches,
over blue humps of snow,

we live in a small house
in a nonexistent town, surrounded
sugary domes
fangs of mountains snapping
at the sky,

the many arms of a winter loaded cottonwood


and weave,

it is a dance solitaire,
in which the eye leads,
in which the mind follows,

a waltz of January trees.

Ever curious: the Writer Elkhound.
j. laster

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