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Snow Path, 2014, acrylic on panel, 12 x 14 in.

Winter Walk

Lick of sun, crunch of snow,
crystal forest looming.
The city escapes me like a burp.

The whitened hillside is a canvas for dreams.
What would you put there?
I would hear a meadowlark or a cow
-- not the ambulance --
and I would be late
for dinner.

Winter Breeze, 1998, acrylic on canvas, 16 x 22 in.

Storm, 1987, acrylic on canvas, 16 x 20 in.


Dog and I storm ready:
plugs pulled, windows cracked
against plummeting pressure.
Wind screams and moans
under blackening clouds charged
with jagged light and growing tumult.
Pulse sounds an alarm
countered by force of reason:
even a storm has a rhythm
of advance and recede.
Surrender to the one is eased
by certainty of the other.

Already gone,
the instant when we might have died,
when light and sound converge with hiss and pop.
Missed by a yard or two.
"Over now," I tell my trembling friend.

Voice shaky in the crackling air,
I joke that we are still alive and--

Folk wisdom is in disarray,
reason to the winds.
Still, the storm must move on...?

I say no more of life or death
but hold her quivering close.
The storm roars off, taking trust along.
Let others welcome raging skies
with deep appreciative breath.
I will head for cover.

The Rains

Rain happens onto the roof,
gathers itself into rivulets
and coasts to earth
to cleanse and feed
what lies rooted there.

Rain hurries onto the roof,
rushes off without reflection
to join the puddles forming below,
eager to arrive
before they are absorbed.

Rain gallops onto the roof,
slips and crashes
over the eaves onto the ground
and dies.

The world is awash
with dead raindrops,
suicide soldiers
in a battle against cheer.

Petals, 1984, acrylic on panel, 18 x 30 in.


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