. 

#11

.

We stand on the ledge of sunlight streaming on the cusp of winter

while sunlight lights the chill places awaiting th touch of snow

promising sleep as we wait for her return, bringing the wet snow,

the change in sub-space winds that howl unheard as the jet streams

and we pause, waiting for the cup of trembling to spill

withe her arrival of Jericho and La Nina.

#12

.

The breeze curls around my legs as I walk slowly through the park following

the coursing river as the snows melt and thaw into it.

Tugging at my hem and coaxing me like an eager child with

the goal in sight, and I needs must follow!

Capricious, willful lie it, I follow as I list,

listlessness abandoned to the promise of

pirate's ships floating past us at full sail any minute now!

#13

.

The joyous call of the Carousel music

causes me to pause in mid-stride or

I would never have noticed the wind

playing with my stride, escaping my

shadow at play by clinging to my ankles

coming along for the ride as I slow,

briefly abandoning them both as I

turn back to face the music

and lose myself in the laughter of the children

I have - briefly- borrowed as my own as

we linger, the wind and I,

unnoticed int he sedate passage of time

and the wooden horses

leaping into tomorrow with galloping strides.

#14

.

Something gentle strokes my face as I sit beneath

the multi-pronged Pine Tree half absorbed by the hiss and flow

of the traffic behind me, snatches of conversation,

briefly overheard, out-of-context

cascade over my shoulder to conspire to push against

the back of  the sun lazed river as it pushes invisibly

against the vague thoughts of nothing

to seize the moment since the wind is behind our backs!

.

Small dark smudges blow near defining themselves as rain clouds

shaped like something more at home on the floor of the ocean

they are wind driven reminders of the vagaries of Life, 

what is and what I wish it to be,

I trail a fine thread and watch which way the wiind blows

unlike my opinions which are too firmly embbed in

my attitude and concern to care which way the wind blows.

To keep my feet under me, I trail my fingers over my head,

holding lightly to the kite string which keeps me connected

with the heavens. no matter which way the winds blow.

#16

,

The clouds are definitely white as they strecth horizontally against

the distant blue horizon of mountains

the Sky stretched overhead as deeply defines by their white contrails

as thin as spun Candy speared vertically away

from the rounded tops of the blue hills

as they rest on cushioned layers of wet clouds escaping

the push of the wind that would disperse them across

the waiting blue sphere of sky.

#17

.

I hear the push of the wind against my window pane

nestled secure in the casing

a metallic period at the end of the push

as the breeze vectors aground the corner to rest,

the strength of the glass on the other side, the

slap of the rain escaping the wind's bullying push

draws my attention from the sound just beyond

as I wake from nightmares shaped

by the push and shove of the air I can hear

but cannot see

restless spirits stirring mine in camaraderie

but where it goes I cannot follow

as I shug and turn my other shoulder to

shoulder aside its plea to rise and run at will -

perhaps tomorrow ...

#18

.

Living in a city where the river pushes through the heart of town

you always have a quiet place to get apart and reconnect

to discover that bit of yourself knocked off at the edges

by the push and shove of busy commercial contact.

#19

.

In the brief three-month span between houses I used to watch

the soundless river flow past the third story window

of the public library 

nearly as wide as Nature herself 

and I'd feel the sense of life flowing through me ~ 

as the waters slipped and stumbled over the rocks,

I had no idea when it would ned or if this

was to be the end of me, ! which ! somehow I doubted

though hope slid through my fingers

like the sun warmed water over Spokane Falls!

#20

.

Like most of the women

I came to know at the small, safe place

run by the Nuns.

where we rested and ate during the day,

attending classes,

puttering around like children,

I rebelled against the false allure

of having found safety from trials

there was a lodestone centering me

against the pain and obstacles

even my own failure and doubt,

that like the clouds La Nina pushed

over my head on the painful walk

to the 'freedom' of the Shelter

from the horrors of the street

that I would be strong one day 

but for now, like her,

I was gray and menacing one day,

courageous with hope another

disappearing into tearful moisture

Forever altered.

forever the same!

#21

.

 The same weatherman who promised rain and snow filled days

haughtily rebuked the camera lens, chiding less knowledgeable people 

about the weather's truth - that the lack of snow 'makes it feel warmer'

he explained when 'in turth' in it 'actually colder' , then,

'temperatures stayed the same for this time of year' but his meaning

was understood by anyone who cared to listen,

Wrong again, Mister Channel Weatherman,

it was the sunlight, brilliants but warmth sunlight mimicking Spring

while we could risk looking up with the lack of hidden ice -

to see and enjoy it!

#22

,

It been one of my quadruple 'busy' days of the year

which demanded my time and attention and demanded I be

out of the house no matter how much I would have preferred

staying indoors and staying warm!

The cold and the dark intertwine like my emotions as joy

and weariness co-exist, finding nooks and crannies to nestle within

while disparte parts stand outside with one another.

♥

.

#23

.

I glance out my window into the darkness of the night

and I notice the brillant stars of artifical lights

clustered in the resutrant's tree branches that so implied

the approch of a merry holiday in November but now, with

January a week old, seem a reminder that times passsed

and things change, expectations are filled or denied, but

time moves on and the daylight will return...

at a time of its own choosing.

And I notice dark, hooded shapes drifting along the sides of

streets where no lights shine, in keeping with their passage,

their laughter partitions the well lighted blocks ahead

into haves and hav nots as the overhead traffic lights mutely

signel the passage of time to empty streets in the darkness 

keeping time witht he hidden pusle of the Universe

and as a chill loneliness attempts to invade I push it aside

allowing the blinds to close back over the night bound city scene

I have more more enough here to keep me occupied and forbid

the chill lonliness which I choose to evade.

#24

,

Shiloh knows he's a much loved Cat  

but since it's been one of those four 'busy' months

I have too much to do when I finallys it

to wait out his infinite Cat patience ~ sitting there

stariing right at me, making me wait as I have him ~

until he takes a notion to answere the loving summons

as if he wouldn't?

#25.

.

The sparrows huddle together at the center of the shrub

like brown pine cones on an ornamental evergreen,

they fluff up their feathers mimicking brown eggs

evenly spaced on the cold defined branches-waiting

for spring to arrive and thaw or passers-by to throw crumbs.

The odd absence of bird calls that dominate the summer scene.

They all face outwards, with their tails toward the tree trunk bark

they seem to be watching me in puzzlement braving the cold

and walking alone when they are wise enough to cling together.

.

The setting sun is ablaze against a glowing sky

poised over the mountain ridge

the backdrop of golds and scarlets

beyond the manufacture of mere Mortal Hands

draped in casual majesty, an innate elegance

around a blazing sphere lowering itself

through the haze of winter set afire like my pulse

the modest covering of casual elegance

slipping out of sight for the end of this day...

to shine with full vigor as if just wakened

from a full night's rest, on the other side of the world.

#30

.

As I walked the elegantly clothed nighttime sidewalk from the store

I was privileged to glimpse the colt blue dressing gown Day slipped on

before placing her hand tenderly over the shafts of of sunlight and duty

and as I watched the first star of the night begin to shine out,

I remembered the children's ditty I used to say as Day laid down to rest,

and the diamond clarity of that distant sun reminded me that while mine

was now embracing a land and languages beyond my ken we are linked

a small blue and green sphere whirling endlessly in the dark of space

and I felt a link to what I could see and what I could only imaging,

and I was briefly united with the beauty of night, then I turned inside

where the light of seemingly perpetual sunlight allowed me the time to complete

all the tasks I'd set aside in the course of the real sunlight.

#31

.

The sky seems to draw near, chill and gray as my mood.

I find myself wandering within realms of

imagination and distance even within my own mind

as I follow the course of the river and drift

till the sunlight tentatively breaks through,

bringing me home to Cat and solitude again.

#32

.

The trees shiver, their limbs unclothes

while people hurry without bothering to look over their shoulders

as they feel the chill wind hurry them to places warm and dry.

It makes me wonder if La Nina

simply wants the streets to herself?

And she's willing to use anything in her arsenal

to achieve her own ends, being as fickle as her name,

since cold causes people to gather together

and to plan winter games

in preparation

for Summer's sharp return of burning sunlight and glare.

Can you appreciate the one - without

knowing the other on such an intimate as this?

Each other, or La Nina!

#33

. 

I put on my coat and chase the wind aimlessly

impelled to challenge the cold as it skirts the corner

lured by the slow flow of green water

the pulse of winter's run off

slowly moving under the feet of the Snow Geese

floating and preening on the rippled space between land

like over-sized Lotus Blossoms

bending their heads in graceful arc

to avoid the wind.

#34

.

The rain catches my attention

and focuses it

as La Nina passes....

In peaceful ropose I lean against the window sil

to wath the new moon rise

and shyly return my dreamy stare as I drift

as free as the dried up clouds gracing her couch

keeping aloof fromt he lights that rise up

in humility and awe

from the damp city streets and I marvel

that of all the things I supposed in my youth

that I would care most about...I find

myself enamoured with the vision of an orb

almost as old

as Time itself...and Time ceases to exist

within her golden glow.

Twenty-seven feet of snow in a coastal town in Alaska? Brr....

they seem to have kept all of the snow that usually falls here

but a cold Arctic wind all this week drove ice crystals on their backs

breathing them out with every wintry exhale to last at our cheeks.

I watch the delicate spindles of tomato seedlings growing tall

locked in the warmth of my upstairs apartment and chilled sunlight

as I draw fresh insight and hope each morning as I rise ~

making sure the blinds are pulled open to allow in the smiling sun.