jotting down between storms

the wooden table from the mountain
stands dark against the wall
undisturbed...
by the window in the hall i write;
end the sentence there,
look out at at the no rain, no snow morning...
where's the unpleasant weather?
here's light frost in ohio,
i'm thinking of swinging under the golden gate,
no swinging, just heading, into the bay,
running with the tide in my Monterrey,
coming in under the great bridge,
years ago...a good time then
when running with the tide in light weather.
california, you did me well.
and the swell i rode in on.
and now recall, best of all,
when weather was no problem...
sometime i wonder where the old boat is now.
someone is treating it right, no doubt.
i'm happy to remember.
though ohio is no problem...
here cruising along,
part humming a song
recalling my boat...
working through the days,
while making note.

a break

today we got a break in the weather,
it's about time.
we were getting tired waiting;
seemed winter wouldn't let go.
now we feel the weather could be getting warmer soon,
good news if it happens.
i saw a few birds...
come ahead now,  springtime,
we're ready for you.
it rained hard...
now it's snowing.

an education

an education?​

rich kids cheating,

gain fame, admiration,

endorsements,notoriety,
a side step up in our culture.

entitled, disgusting.

why this echelon exists

is beyond cultural limits.

where is reading? 

leave me by the table lamp

to study, to wonder...
oh,  by the way, nice shoes.

spring to be

waiting with the weather,

from the inside looking out.

no doubt it will be spring,

going to get here, however,

it's not leaping out to grab us.

we'll bump along through flakes of snow,

occasional blustery rain,

all portents of this spring to be.

can't rush it.

in the country

honey bunch
why  doncha pack a lunch
i'll hold you when we get there
in the sun. see it.

we'll sit down
hang around
what you say?
it's our day of sunshine.

hold on, look. 
blue sky above, and laughter,
we'll be feeling love, my dove,
tell me, what do you say?

months bundle

nothing changes,
there is variety.

I'll have one to go.
wrap them up.
February always runs quickly,

then before you know
skip to May,
okay, we're halfway.

check the moon,
then it's June

seems what's close.
all so soon.
July again before you know it.

roll them on
moon lover.
take them quickly
as they come


light weather ahead
no more winter to speak of,
winter is a season complete.
any snow and cold ahead
will be bearable.

5 march

in Rome you could wear a hat
here in ohio you will, no doubt,
because it's very cold this march.
take your mind off of it.

pancakes keep me going
and they only happen once a week or so,
that's how powerful they are;
and warm and liquidy
with butter and syrup,
real maple syrup.

got everything set but
candles on the table,
now look! through the window near.
i'm pointing. i see flurries.

dumped a ton of comments

change

now i will, i was wrong
i will publish comments from anonymous


now i'm thinking
of "ton a comments".
that's how it rolls
dialectically in ohioan.

left my

left my beret in Finney Hall,
Oberlin Conservatory of music.
called this morning to say i left my “derby”;
called back to say it's a “beret”.
last night's concert featured a
great mezzo soprano, and piano,
then player on stand up bass made in 1741,
then came in the rest -
trumpet, drums, an accordionist
with instrument from Brazil.
they entirety gave and got a “wow”,
top line classical and jazz performance.
everyone took solos,
artists as accomplished as possible.
surprised i didn't leave with cold feet
cause they knocked my socks off.

to write

hard board and chalk
a chair and a light,
then ready to write.
...how about a thought?

that's good, just don't over do it.
you're not out to prove anything.
readers will draw their own conclusions,
that's what the chalk is for.

wild wind

the wild wind almost knocked me down,
otherwise the day is fine,
warmer.
solid sleep then eggs for breakfast.

made a coffee, sipped it down,
moved around,
took out the trash,
practically walking ok.

ok this day.
took a blast of wind
enough for now.
holy cow.

inside is warm, comfortable.
i look out the window and smile.
this note is enough to write
for now. my heart's fine.

no rain, just wind.
it's that kind of day again.

keep going

kevlar, tevlar, a tough cover
what you need.
there is that word “need” again.
Schnevlar.

no, “need”. you “need”,
keeps you working to keep up,
get along. not on top,
just getting along.

i need a tough shield, sort of.
or to move along like i have one.
look both ways.
keep going. It'll all work out.

over and out

Miracle whip, a salad dressing.
Salad oil, salad grease.
Salad sauce, i'd say.
salad sauce of happiness, call it that.
there is no miracle involved.
don't go in, the salad's dressing.
a good job, naming stuff?
one good name, you're finished,
next week find new job

sunday now

have my day right,
clouds bright in one spot this morning.
the sun is back there
covered by slow, high grey cloud swirls.
no breeze out here in front.
leaveless trees are standing still.
cold outside for sure
the prediction calls for
snow this afternoon, this morning is dry.
we'll see what winter means.
i count on any snowfall today to be beautiful.

it's saturday

flurries fall slow enough to see between,
cold enough to stay around
on the ground.
it's winter cold.
it's february, what you'd expect,
what we see when we wake
on saturday.
quite a day.
another one in winter.

little to go

grey is the morning,
now without rain.
the month is quick.
screaming through February.
nowhere particular to go.
making notes, reading
and writing what is needed.
i can coffee up
and plan ahead,
keeping order, regarding
as best i can.

blue shadow

a snow melt again
in a day's light rain.
warm, but not to get excited;
more cold to come.
today's rain water will
freeze again tonight,
more winter on the way they say;
we'll see enough
to decorate the ground white,
and cast a blue shadow.

come alive

so i'll paint the upstairs walls
in pastels, swirls, tubes, circles
dots, clefs and parallel lines
until the room looks like one of my modern art engravings
come alive

go away winter

warm we can get used to;
it is about time.
surrender winter,
glad to see you go.

big sun

temperatures higher now,
fifty degrees at noon and climbing.
i go to the porch where
it feels familiar though not quite spring,
working in that direction.
Tecumseh, you passed by; were born here
two hundred years ago.
what is new for you, are you
more familiar with this land?
water flowing these streams.
winter's not as tough for you now.
all is quiet in the fields.
the deer are still here.
not as many, yet plenty.
we see them, and now birds
have begun to stir after a tough winter's quiet.
much land is taken over by roads, towns.
trees are fewer yet
forests remain;
thank goodness.

a break

a break in the cold. the freezing,
a little, some better, some say...
we'll see and hope so,
all the way.
161 snow records broken in January,
forty percent of the US covered in snow,
it's winter enough.
look ahead for goodness.
we'll take spring, i know.
all of us are ready.

wait the weather

Chicago is expecting minus 60 Fahrenheit.
every is expecting agonizing low temperatures,
now while sitting at the table
talking about tomorrow's weather.
we will think of it, but not
spend a large amount of time
futurizing weather conditions.
numbers are predicted, then are changed,
we get distracted during the day
and wait to see what happens.

rise, sun

looking out i saw it
such color.
the sun rise exploded pink.
in blistering cold, no wind.
never felt a day like it.
in two more it will drop well below freezing.
this is 29 january 2019 happening now.
see you, pal;
we'll see how it goes.

irregular

didn't cross the field.
came straight down the sidewalk.
i saw the tracks,
not large as i'd expect;
has little bunny feet.

i looked as he crossed the street
then sat up large as a pooka.
his jacket would be a rabbit extra large.
must live under those pine trees;
glad i never walk there.

wild morning light

twisted, rolling clouds lite up,
blown about.
the sun is pow-wild bright.
you forget this is a winter morning
when you're watching wild morning light.

over melt

rain all day on top of
hard pack snow heaps.
they say, again they do the talking,
twelve hours straight of falling water, oh yeah.

how much melt?
it's a matter of warm
don't you suppose, and there is.
warming, then cold again.

lets have
soup for lunch. don't worry
your pretty well
over melt.

heading up

pro foootball players make big money.
you watch them on TV,
that's why they get the gravy.
they get a million dollars
every time they turn around.
buy a ticket and keep 'em going.
i am sorry they bang heads.

january, there is snow

woke to drifts over two feet.
still falling, blowing this morning,
snow like i've never seen.
safe at home.
couldn't get to the street anyway,
no traffic is moving.
twenty-something degrees outside...
wait, i checked, make that 13 and dropping.

i'm staying home; big football on TV;
at the end of baseball season i didn't care,
now can't miss it, it is better than the Superbowl today,
New England Patriots versus Kansas City Chiefs.

here to there

m and i used to be there.
what i see, that's how it is.
an internet live camera looks down on the piazza,
and it tugs at my heart to see Rome this way,

from here; and there it is.
look, now it's afternoon here
and being six hours ahead,
it's nighttime there already.

take a breath.
we'll work it out
and be together
Rome.

glance

waiting snow predictions, revisions,
while it is dusting white,
yielding little flurries;
the storm has not begun;

not the one to shut us in for a few days
or make a drive to the airport perilous.
long ago we'd look and guess the weather,
now we glance and know it will snow at 2pm.

until then

moving is jarring at first,
to find new paint, new walls,
favorite possessions moved to new places.
old tables suddenly turned around take on a look of new.

sun light comes in and through unexpected places.
new window views take getting used to.
waiting a few days will make all become familiar.
until seasons change and tilt the light

cover

woke to the silent white,
a coverlet of snow.
it's heavy, you can feel it.
and not a sound outside.

in the country

lady walked by
where i'm sitting, waiting,
nothing in particular.
she smiles at me.
i take a second to react,
then remember where we are;
although she's not Mennonite
or anything particular, just a middle aged lady,
we are out in the country
where people are kinder.
so i relax and smile back.

Eddie katzman

my friend Eddie
has gone among the stars
no time to fold his tent,
a step and he is gone;
he always traveled light.

- - - - - - -
sifu, gorilla lover.
Oh, Eddie, sunlight reminds me of you.
Bac wa, tai chi, chi gung
so long Eddie Katzman,
your teachings are with me;
friend i am to you

my phone rings

business is going to hell
if companies think
calling me will lead
them to making money

in line

there are favorites
often repeated.
naturally i thought i'd seen every combination;
woke, glanced over;
what i saw on the clock surprised me.
a new one, 1 2 3 4

on the morn

wind on wreaths
shakes 'em so
they blow in the breeze;
this morning they do,
i see that.

when then on a sudden,
it's quiet for certain;
like that you know.
so loosely hang this time,
all working out fine,
no wind, no blow.

my pictures

save my pictures,
keep them flat and dry,
with not a wrinkle.
store them away like sweet dreams;
we spent time together.

do review what I have painted,
now and then,
remember way-back when.

i tell you this:
on cold winter mornings they would build
a keep-warm fire.
you could catch the heat of flames,
a big one. It felt good,
it distracted from the cold.

table in the sun

Giancarlino came by and greeted me
as i sat having coffee with Alberto.
ah, the magic of art and artists
develops at a table in the sun.

È venuto Giancarlino e mi ha salutato
mentre sedevo a prendere un caffè con Alberto.
ah, la magia dell'arte e degli artisti
si sviluppa a un tavolo al sole.

remembers

by the forno
a worker walked by, said ciao, Jack.
the face i knew, forgot his name.

hello, good bye, my friends,
the month went quickly,
old friends, familiar places.

so good to see them all...
i knew when we were young.

monday morning

the week begins with
7 under the wet tent;
each know the chores,
working separately, together;
cutting, cleaning, preparing vegetables
so the market can live again.
food shoppers brave spattering, cool, winter rains,
amid happy chatter.
all jobs will be done.

time

saw a former neighbor lady
from a while ago.
we smiled.
i didn't know what to say;
asked of her child.
feminine, she replied,
sixteen years old.

view

icebergs are melting,
there’s floating trash in the oceans.
the universe is expanding.
scientists have conflicting notions.

is it hotter
or colder,
or the same.
what’s the trend?

i don’t care, it really doesn’t matter to me.
i need to know only two things:
when i go outside do I need a jacket?
and what’s for dinner?

in waves

pages turn
then closing my eyes
goes like rain
after another, another

not rapid though smooth, 
continuous. it's a dream, 
on a train. scenes passing. 
heads down cows on green far hills.

constant movement in waves
then coffee in an unfamiliar bar
somewhat dim, comfortable, pleasant.
worn, rolling wood, beautifully polished.

sun's warmth on my back, and i remember the train.
calmly i gaze out the window; 
so apparent, how pleasant
a nap can be

sitting in the right seat

give me that shot of sun in the eye like you did this morning,
i'd sure like to keep it with me all day,
the warm spot,
all over my face.
you make me happy, sun.

cold outside

do your best, it's important;
but don't knock yourself out.
wear a hat when you go out,
and take your time, don't slip;
the rain is turning to snow.
baby, it's cold outside.

quiet ahead

look now...
see morning's dull beige, long rolling, calm, open fields.
a creek meanders the lower section.
crops have been harvested.
all is buttoned up. farms are still.

what few birds haven't gone south
are down at this hour; geese and scavengers.
dark gray skies have a glow in the east.
chip monks are in hiding,
resting geese a field away.

a good hour to appreciate the view.
winter's here in a month or two,
freeze everything, turn it white,
settle all down until spring.
these are the farmer's easy, between times.
good for planning, thinking.
quiet abounds.

autumn joy

finally the final days
of October got to the leaves,
squeezed out the color.
see it now abound;
the booming joy called autumn is here.
wind blows, relax,
it is the season.

this morning

the wonder sun is cracking
above far trees and buildings
and taps my eye;
that's the start of the day.

changes

along our way
the calendar unwinds,
weeks into seasons;
how well do you keep track?
it happens to me when
occasionally i think of it.
as garden vegetables change,
picked ripe, some eaten
some preserved out of sight;
books are read, time moves.
when winter develops
delights she had saved
now ready for eating;
design becomes surprises,
how tasty; thanks, planter and planner.

starting

starting early
before dawn;
creeping right along.
pants on, moving.
found my shoes
hum a song.
hear her making coffee.
i'm ready.
come on day.

alive cows

eating grass
looking around,
calm in the pasture,
no sound...not making a

Cool and rain

cool and rain.
a sudden autumn chill
came sooner than expected.
cap and jacket
serve you well,
the season changed,
time to give into it.
find the joy.

all share

breakfast in Shelby,
two hours after dawn,
half hour to home;
deliberately taking small roads;
got behind two women riding
a horse drawn cart.
smiling, talking, just older than girls,
their strong brown horse, beautiful.
they in cart, we in car
All share these country lanes
this partly gold sun morn.

go ibid

last week heard cleveland orchestra
in oberlin. tiny hall.
phrases loud as i've ever heard
also softness in the extreme.
strange selections, locally written.
the french pianist played his entire movement
with his left hand

good job, wild program, not your regular.
now, heard the orchestra again last night
with lang lang on piano.
why is he renown?
folks. he's smooth.
long fast runs...quiet, quick.
clean as i've never heard in any recording.
he's got it.

29 september 2018 was

yesterday evening we went to Severance Hall
for the 100th anniversary gala of the Cleveland Orchestra.
Franz Welsor-Most conducted,
Lang Lang played the piano,
M drove.

the audience in formal wear
went for a dinner after the concert
we went home,
it was bedtime.

phone proclamation

i received a phone call that began "Hello."
in that one word i heard
the voice and education of a 1950s show girl.
she continued lightly admonishing,
slightly breathy, "I'm calling from
the U.S. Treasury Department..." that was enough;
i smiled and disconnected. she failed the audition.
i hung up.

day begins

air still and foggy,
different the way this day begins.
i could be working early;
am thinking of the mystery in the fields,
beautiful out this morning.
first coffee starts me off;
playing it familiar.
i'll think about the fields
then decide which pot to stir.
taking the morning easy.

fall so

the bottom dropped
out of the thermometer.
it's September, after all.
from shorts to long pants;
the transition to fall.

aleppo pepper

quiet morning
at the country store,
one other customer at the register;
a Mennonite woman
buying a large assortment of bananas.
m wondered what recipe she had;
waited as bananas were
individually weighed.
m picked up aleppo pepper from Syria,
the fiery taste of the Mediterranean;
we'd sprinkle it on fried eggs;
a brilliant tang for breakfast:
leapers

Ganges, Oh

out back crossed
Ganges, Ohio;
too small
to poem.

everything is temporary

not extremely hot, no rain today.
the city guys in hard hats
are tearing out the sidewalk
in front of our house
and all the way down the street,
preparing for a new gas line,
a better line,
fat plastic, so it won't rust
and will last a century
or until there is something better;
they talk among themselves
and explained to us
so we'd know:
everything is temporary.

Easter Island statues

Easter Island statues;
want to wake to see
one like it in your yard?
are forty feet tall,
weigh 75 tons.
mow around it.

oil an

oil an onions
and tortillas
and cheese
are good
together fried,
sprinkle salt

the season

cloudy and humid
so what, hey it's august,
i wait all year for this discomfort;
it could be an island with the sea
but i don't have to use bug repellent.
feel it getting better?
watermelon is in season.

august moving

august: the quickest moving month in the northern hemisphere,
now midway
marking summer on the wane.
time to diminish in intensity.
can you believe it?
so soon again.
sweetcorn is the good of it

morning, august

a sunny, warm, still morning
for bees and hummingbirds.
sip your coffee,
take a look.
enjoy the day.
could use a pile of days like this.

.

going to rain

the booms swept north to south
shook the windows,
and the house,
explosions of glorious thunder,
only a pause...before rain pounded.

carefully i planned words to write this,
fell back asleep...
woke remembering little;
sidewalks are damp

Thankyou

Annie and Tom,
Thanks for your support.
I should work harder.
Oh, Annie, I forgot how to publish comments.
i think they are on.

.

waiting weather

attractive cloud formations,
that's it...no rain,
not out there...here.
nothing expected, forget it,

a dull okay, that's good enough.
can't have it all; would like it cooler,
there i go.
what do i want?

i think, first - not to be foolish;
we can't have it all:
there are good starting points...
like nice clouds.

so, heat's here

will be warm today, say hot, they say;
so summer, show me what you've got today.

good new travels

my friend plans
ten days with his son, mountain camping
away from the heat, sounds good;
oh yes, whatever your program: enjoy summer

buggies, sunday

back around New Haven...
we saw eight in a row,
slow trotting, horse drawn, buggies;
all made the turn onto a smaller side road,
on their way to Sunday meeting;

anytime we pass a buggy, the driver,
man or woman, will raise a hand,
catch our eye and smile;
granting us permission to be there...
by saying a friendly hello.

we see faces and hands as
happy children wave out from
the buggy's rear window.

hey, how about it

like a super-size pillow
see it? i like 'em.
dark and white clouds billow...
floating by...see 'em?
look up and wonder; will it rain,
or pass us by? what do you say?
i'd say though it's seems so...
kind of darn dry, you know.
we wait rain, we do.

pour it out, could you?
fill us up, Water Maker.

rain would help

my feet look older
maybe it's the heat.
there are clouds passing by;
dampness would help.

trees and beans

being anxious as you
to see what this contains,
i'll say the title was written,
the following day a poem developed.

bees: make it trees and bees, better eh?
i did, so you have to,
i'd say so, so it is said.
now i'll clear this out,

write it and read it.
july 7, 2018...it'll be 78 degrees in fahrenheit.
no breeze to speak of...
no smoking either...
maybe that's the root of what this is about

when it

don't have my nicotine
mine, all mine. personal.
doing without, am i fooling myself?
folding myself

correcting settings on my machine, began to read these words out loud. became angry, not too much, just enough.

fill me in, what's easier.
the distraction will remove fault,
take the rest away.
who needs auto correct?
yes, it functions well.
am i smoothing out yet?
mentioning is a kin to ...

watermelon filled the space.

mark the date in stone

crawl on by, keep going
you moaning yearning, i feel you
reaching vainly,
deep hunger.

plumber eyes

the guy is plumber,
fixed our drippy faucet.
took a year for him to get here,
because we didn't call him;
for sure that slowed him down.

then amazon did everything,
found a guy who knew what tools
to bring, and how to use them.
good for him and us
but i never got his name.

you see how well the new world works?
i want to believe in efficiency
for us, from him.
yet, we never got his name.
for shame, cold world.
i never heard him say his name.

up in smoke

pipe tobacco/
crushed by hand/
roll it/
light it.../
up in smoke
okay, i know that one
so now i'll try this again,
i'll leave it alone.
good luck, good times.

fiori di zucca

today is the day,
gathered zucchini flowers,
then battered and fried
ah, my favorites.

away some

nine days to see,
saw my daughter and her's;
this poet on vacation
made mental notes,
worked none at all.
all went well that way,
i'd say.

ate, weather hot,
what we got
hit the spot.

then we're out of there
not even wrinkled.

i thought we were pals

the parent robins returned
fed their young worms about noon.
didn't know me or my whistle
from dee man in dah moon

launch

Final two robins launch today.
one hops through sweet woodruff
other half way up small dogwood
Mother and father sweep in to protect

stuck

stuck under a bureau drawer
her father's report card from '34.
this brings the question
how much to collect?

vacation

going on vacation,
not staying at home; rocket out.
leaving, far from winter,
side-step away from the usual.
can be done most anywhere
wake up, relax, go back to sleep.
soak it in, refresh yourself

what robin did

watched robin land on a wobbly wire.
if i could fly i'd do that.
my neurologist doubts i'd accomplish
the rest of what the robin did:
jump 180 degrees and land
facing the other direction.
i said, don't bet on it,
when you're hot
you're hot.

robins decide

we preferred them a protected corner
not a highly trafficked area.
nonetheless two returning robins
insisted on building a nest again
near the steps on our porch,
then made three more robins;
now are feeding them pieces of worms.
we have to be reasonably cooperative
and respectful of their activities.

bumps

you notice bumps on the way going out;
the same road home is always smoother.

found rocks

when you're able
display special rocks you find
in a line on a table
so you appreciate finding them

go by

on the porch to feel …
in wind light and variable.
sounds like the weatherman
but merely a morning porch looker;
and the train runs by half mile away.

the Q sounds. dah, dah dit dah.
my engineer friend 25 years ago
said no to the Q, just: long, long, short, long.
Yes, it calls the same
as a telegrapher on the plain
as steel wheels sound on the track
on an otherwise quiet morning
rolling, rolling go by

Toast for me
by the baker of the bread
been buttered she said
berry jelly is mine to apply
while there again:
rolling, rolling,
train rolling, go by

purple on

flashy purple on the Queen, hat and dress
at the wedding of her grandson
on round the world tv,
oh, I noticed; fans don that chosen color
for the Lake Erie Crushers semi-pro baseball team;
here comes now: then identical, how did it happen,
my bright new t-shirt. exacto mundo or what?
didn't fall out of the sky.
i'm talking three same purples.
m chose the t-shirt or it appeared like magic in my clothes drawer.
she didn't help the queen
or the baseball team.
you decide what's coincidence.

throughout time you can rough shod ascertain
what day in our millennium this all came down.
gives me the willeys.

won't

won't change
'cept i'm older;
jesus criminey
that wraps it up.

dreamt cowboys
redoing their movies,
they were older;
seemed 'bout logical.

knee deep

a jet trip had me writing in my head,
never scribed a note when good words
began piling around me.
knee deep in my head.
unfortunately the trip to san fran ended without blunting pencil lead.
the good fortune is the trip.

be all

nothing doing in the rain,
all is still outside my window
pit pat
except that.
as spring is set.
let's begin again.
temperate times, where are thee?

search me

The blank box in the upper right is a search box to find other poems by looking for a word, any word. Some are in the poems and some are words that will lead you to another poem. It's fun to try.
This bit of writing is an exercise in communication, me to you, and in writing. I know I should be writing more each day, but I get lost reading because I enjoy that too. I like to put my shoes on ... thought I'd mention that.

this world we live in

thousands of displaced persons
walk in the rain, in the wind. families carrying
their infants, seeking refuge, peace
somewhere.

dry in my bed last night, on the radio
i heard a young baseball player in Boston
or Baltimore had signed a contract for
150 or 160 million dollars.


.

near spring

unseasonably warm some say
i call this our first spring day.
we waited a winter
not outer but inner,
now we're ready to play.

too much hoping, too soon.
the dreams floating
unsubstantiated and doomed.
tossed in the wind,
we'll try again
tomorrow.

salt road

they put out salt from here to Peru,
route 61 to Shelby and beyond.
17 degrees, the day before's snow on the road.
drove there, parked, we entered.

sat by the window;
looking good, view in and out. joint's hoppin'.
sunny side up and good hash browns
i ordered that.

"for potatoes..." the waitress
looking me in the eye or over my head and out the window
finalized, "shredded or chunks?" wants to speak
her own language...a real think-about.

made my mind up - shredded;
she went away then it all came back to me: got eggs and all.
ate with gusto, paid and told her
"it's all fine what you have here...so's the coffee."

she believed me, an eye blink goodbye.
white asphalt, dry and salted
as we rode on home
oh, yeah




On a personal note: At times I
have to work poems over for days.
Others I share quickly;
I want to serve them while they're hot.

.

winter's day ride

out in the country we pass
a pair of beautiful high stepping dark horses,
brown with lighter beige patches and white slashes,
pulling a clack buggy, silhouetted in bright snow.
a family aboard, my camera not ready ...
i see them come,
with children smiling.
there, hear them laughing
... there they go.
bundled for a winter's day ride.
oh, joy ... and nice horses

.