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WINTER?
In the early morning, beforeI open the blinds, beforethe sun approaches rising,I imagine the chill envelopingeverything outside, Octoberslipping quickly towardNovember, to the possibilityof rolling snake eyes, to snow. Winter always came that way,unannounced, and at leastby me, unwelcomed, thelast of the crimson, flameorange and ochre leavesdragged to the earthand buried ignominiously. But I know when…
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REFLECTIONS
An elk stands at the edgeof a placid mountain lakeand sees only the cloudsof an approaching winter.A black bear leans overthe mirrored surface of the lakeand sees only the fishthat will soon be his repast.The young man drapedin saffron robes lookscalmly into the water and seesa pebble, the spirit of his ancestors.I look carefully into…
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Santa Cruz Wharf, September
The quieter you becomethe more you can hear.— Baba Ram Dass Orion lies over the wharfstaring at the moon, danglinglike an unyielding eye, barring sleepwhile below the waves washonto the shore, licking the pilingsand tasting the sand, a calming roarbroken only by the barkingof the harbor seals.It is not a night for huntingthe bear has…
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OF THE SEASONS
In the heart of winter, then,which seemed unendingI would stare out at the maplesbarren branches piledin ever tottering snowand dream of palm treesand a warm ocean breeze. In heart of winter now,such as it is, all I seeare endless palms andmany Southern Live Oaks,their branches piledunder a heavy burdenof sagging Spanish Mossand I dream of…
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DRINKING TEA IN KABUL*
Rockets flash brieflyacross the chilled sky,plumes of smoke, ashcarried offby impending winter. Over the lintel of the entryto the Inter-Continental Hotel Chicago,carved deeply into the marbleEs Salamu Aleikumstaring implacablythrough ponderousbrass framed doorsonto the Miracle Mile.Countless guestspass below itunseeing. My son and Isit across a small tablespilling bits of tapasonto the cloth,laughing lightlyat the young boybathed…
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QUESTION POSED, AWAITING A RESPONSE
I stooped and spoketo a stone, asking the question.I was here before you arrivedand I will be her long after you leave.I held the sand in my handwarm from the sun, asking the question.I came after your arrivedand I will leave long before you are gone.I held the winter wind on the tipof a finger,…
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NO BIALYS TODAY
No one looked up when the Buddhawalked into the deli and took a seatat the counter, “Pastrami on rye, andlean, with mustard on the side, and twoslices of full dill and a side of slaw.” As he sipped the Dr. Brown’s CreamSoda, the waitress smiled at him,asked, “Are those robes comfortable,winter isn’t all that far…
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FEEDER
The seed specklesthe snow like buckshotpiled neatly under the branchwhere we, fingers numbed,tied the little chaletto the lowest limbof the ancient maple.The birds stand staringas the squirrel swingsslowly in the breeze. First Appeared in Echoes, March – April 1996.
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AFTER ALL
After all that has happened,after all of the changestumbling one upon another,after breathing again new air,after ceding fear to hopewhen I sit down to write itall I have at the endis a small glass of snowin the middle of July.
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HARLAN
You came, Harlan, to Rochestersomewhere in an endless winter,“Ellison in Tundraland” you said.We all chuckled approvingly. You said a short prayerclimbing into the rusting Opel,sliding on the edgeof oblivion, andthe approaching snowplow. You stood, hoarse, smellingof Borkum Riff and English Leather,a tweed jacket over a polo shirtand thinning jeansand told us of the insanityof television,…
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an old writer and his words 