Tag Archives: winter

This winter’s day

You do not have the flu. The cat is not sick, nor the dog lost. The bitter cold has not burst the pipes. The firewood is dry enough to catch the perfect flame thrown by the ordinary wonder of a rough-struck match. The small, wild things — plumed, delicate — fly hollow-boned to the feeders […]

The world’s most perfect couple

She lays herself out on the slow current, neck extended, orange paddles holding her steady as he circles, bobbing his shimmering head, then climbs aboard, mates, nibbles briefly her elegant nape, dismounts and circles once more, fast — an exhilaration, an exuberance — exhausting his fletched desire before settling beside her on the bank, resting […]

Meteorology

I You and your hollow promises. Eager as a child on Christmas, I awaken early, craving the snow you forecast. Ninety percent chance, you said. Two to three inches. Liar. Decades of deceit; countless disappointments. Why do I still trust you? You’re no better than Lucy, promising that this time, this time, you will hold […]

Wikipedia in winter

Snowflakes arise in eight categories, at least eighty variants. They are rarely triangles, commonly hexagons. Needle, column, plate, rime; combinations. They appear white, but are clear. They aggregate around dust. Realizing this, respect dust, the humble core of every elaborate crystal that chills and sanctifies your lifetime of winters. Temperature matters; humidity. And velocity, the […]

Courage

The January 31, 1955 cover of Sports Illustrated featured a fresh-faced young skier, blonde curls falling languidly over her sun-and-snow tanned forehead, blue eyes meeting the photographer’s lens with a seriousness that belied her exuberant personality. Her name was Jill Kinmont, and at 18, she was the national slalom champion and a likely medal contender in […]

One shot

 

One shot

One shot

Vertigo

Snow falls all night as I lie beneath down only the cat against my flank, her weighted contentment, making me necessary in the oriented world. Vertigo again —  reeling adrift —  meclizine in the dark and waiting, still, on the gradual repair of the rotting rudder. The aging body comes round slowly if at all […]

This winter’s day

You do not have the flu. The cat is not sick, nor the dog lost. The bitter cold has not burst the pipes. The firewood is dry enough to catch the perfect flame thrown by the ordinary wonder of a rough-struck match. The small, wild things — plumed, delicate — fly hollow-boned to the feeders […]