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
drifting
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
by
sugary domes
and
fangs of mountains snapping
at the sky,
the many arms of a winter loaded cottonwood
writhe
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
Spring is not far away!