A poem draft from this morning:
down feathers without the coat
fallen for a mile and caught
feet from the ground by a noose
of tips of limbs. the implausibly thin
stacked snow is piled, looking
something like peace or like
at least, containment, almost
contentment but not quite.
it is what the squirrels will
knock off as they chase off
their frisky season, their
forty four days of gestation.
they’ve each only got two dozen
shots at this breeding thing.
better scatter the snow faster,
hop, hop, hop to higher branches
until the whole tree is knocked
as clean as a rain might do.
My newest post is up at Local Tourist Ottawa on the SLOWest Coffeehouse SLOWest (Sustainable Living Ottawa West) on music and community.
Quote: “Mix a little foolishness with your serious plans. It is lovely to be
silly at the right moment.” ~ Horace