At such a time as this a quiet conversation takes the air, pitched against this feel of winter. To the left of you a dog's bark accompanied by other voices becomes a distraction blotting out everything in sight. Much later the profound ache of a coyote's wail settling somewhere into the thick brush of the back yard – the nature of it becomes a reminder of things still going on outside in that now pitch black environment.
By morning, back into the sunshine, you feel again the partial bite of a winter's frost inflected with fragments of light. This magnificent icy white clinging to the rocks, roots and ferns, nudges you further into the daylight, in the direction of a relentless January chill. And you don't know where the poem is taking you, set so early in the day. Look how the forest keeps hauling you deeper into its half-frozen state, where on a day like today, no wrens or robins sing.
Staring at it, you begin to wonder if you've put it down right. Listening to this imprint of words, you hope that the idea itself hasn't, in the end, come off sounding like a clutter of lines that have simply been, more or less, carelessly pieced together. Ideally you want it to read like something that drew on some sort of initial inspiration, to be noted here in this space open to all types of occurrences.
Lighten-up, you hear the words tease…
Meanwhile, half expecting it, droplets of rain from a rain storm surfacing overhead gently begin to fall, chasing you away from all this toward some other source of illumination…
By morning, back into the sunshine, you feel again the partial bite of a winter's frost inflected with fragments of light. This magnificent icy white clinging to the rocks, roots and ferns, nudges you further into the daylight, in the direction of a relentless January chill. And you don't know where the poem is taking you, set so early in the day. Look how the forest keeps hauling you deeper into its half-frozen state, where on a day like today, no wrens or robins sing.
Staring at it, you begin to wonder if you've put it down right. Listening to this imprint of words, you hope that the idea itself hasn't, in the end, come off sounding like a clutter of lines that have simply been, more or less, carelessly pieced together. Ideally you want it to read like something that drew on some sort of initial inspiration, to be noted here in this space open to all types of occurrences.
Lighten-up, you hear the words tease…
Meanwhile, half expecting it, droplets of rain from a rain storm surfacing overhead gently begin to fall, chasing you away from all this toward some other source of illumination…
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