WINTER’S END

WINTER’S END

The Wood is glazed
A frozen shell
Silvery sky unfazed
Icy fingers fell
Silent, static, gray
Surrendered wont
Captured whey
No creatures jaunt
Miniature icicles hang
Pendants, tapering mass
Temperature’s taunt fang
Locked and keenly cast
It’s Winter’s end, alas…

WINTER’S PROSE TOO

 

 

                                                    WINTER’S PROSE TOO

 

Tattered and battered charcoal-gray wintered limbs reach and wiggle for the warmth of the sun; through a silver-gray winters pall; winters old and wintering in the yard.

MY DEAREST C.,

 

MY DEAREST C.,

 

As I sit in the sanctuary of this tree house at six-forty-five am in the mid autumn darkness of daylight savings time, typing and sipping a very hot medium roast of cocoa and subtle spice of Guatemala Antigua, softly and quietly illuminated by the candles in the window and the twinkle lights from the terrace, the grounds below invisible and the wood, beyond the bay window I am facing, but a mere phantom, I feel gratitude for this measurable measure of equanimity.

ATMOSPHAERA VARIARE

ATMOSPHAERA VARIARE 

 

A silver-gray pall has again draped over the peninsula; casting deeply and moodily the impression of tropical depression. Commuters sluice their wary ways through the juicy film clinging to the surfaces of the avenues. Pellets of precipitation rattle heavily on the skylight overhead. The birds are silent, while the shiny wet leaves of the verdant canopy of the wood waggle to the tune of variable breezes.

THE RAINS CAME

THE RAINS CAME

 

Early morning foggy bay windows conflate the assembling verdant canopy before my brooding mind; becoming and impressionistic. From my bungalow of a tree house the view is bucolic, there are no other dwellings in sight, only the lilt of the foliage of the lissome trees. A harbinger of darkness draps over the peninsula, more thunderstorms insouciantly imbue the labyrinthine horizon. Precipitation is sempiternal; a plethora of Adam’s ale waving, streaming and pooling. The Susquehanna and Delaware swell with ebullience to ravel a propinquity of riparian for all. In penumbra we pause, the pall promising more to come.

WEATHER OR NOT

 

WEATHER OR NOT

 

The windows are fogged from the airconditioning that made a continuous not so low humming sound all night, till finally shutting down this early am when reaching the request of the thermostat. Through the film on the bay windows looking out on the wood, I can discern clear skies and bright sunshine. It is perturbing to sit here, (not going to work), while the weather seems so congenial. I did experience one of the better nights rest I have had in a long time: which would not have happened in a tiny pup tent on a hill in central Pennsylvania with the extreme temperatures and threat of strong thunderstorms. The forecast is still calling for severe weather about the time the show opens this morning at ten. I have tried to focus on my store, listing and answering wildly unreasonable and inappropriate messages requesting that I sell my wares for no profit. Oh… and there is the young woman from Australia messaging me every four hours to ask if the item she purchased twelve hours ago has been posted yet.

 

We have discussed perseverance recently; knowing what diligence we have both exerted over all the years we have been earning a living, I am finding nature adverse in her handling of our would be progress, weather or not.

 

With Assiduity,

 

R.

SHADES OF RAIN

 

SHADES OF RAIN

 

As I sit here in anticipation of the storms that seem to be dissipating before reaching this shore I view the map that is strewn with with that color between blue and yellow of the spectrum that is as green if not greener than the virescent canopy which drapes before me keeping the aforementioned cacophony at bay. Weather or not, the day will  inevitably unfold to share it’s inscrutable riches on the haves and have nots, without a doubt like the wraith rains themselves, more so on some rather than others.

 “It’s the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.”  – Albus Dumbledore

FIFTEEN DEGREES

FIFTEEN DEGREES

 

Staring into the cold

Gelid air streams in bold

Rippled icicles form

But less than adorn

Red headed woodpeckers scorn.

 

Holly tree verdant

Against the mantle of white

Icy streams abundant

A wintery sight

The cloudless sky lending

To this bane bitter bite.

 

A well lighted wood

Promises temperatures should

Rise within hours

Lest there be new snow showers.

 

It is fifteen degrees

As temperatures freeze

Arctic air pushing and squeezing

Prediction not above freezing.

 

And out to the west

The forecast does jest

More snow on the way

Not tomorrow, today.

NATURA OSCULARI

NATURA OSCULARI

 

The Carpet of white

Recedes before my eyes.

Slushy streams remain

Sieving to the sea.

 

Like a tongue

Spring temps lick

The jagged coast.

Cold globe revolves.

 

A stroke a smack

Nature courses, attack

Whether if coarse

Inhabitants aback.

 

Ofttimes

PENNA NIX

PENNA NIX

Snow feathers down

As slow motion

The confection coats the holly

The walk is glazed

A fine icing

Morning is as dusk

Branches and twigs waver

With fresh frosting

The carpet on the terrace

Of the wood, grows whiter

A rimy commute

Muffled though

For some

In a nest

High above

Where snow feathers down