Walking with you is like this. We find things. Once we found a coyote skull. Once porcelain pottery fragments, old bottles, and buckshot. Once a wooden boat, hidden in huckleberry. That was decades ago, near a mountain lake, where there once was a summer camp. The boat was nearly smashed into the ground by snow…
Category: poetry
Swan
We debate what kind. Trumpeter or Tundra? Juvenile? Why alone here with the mergansers and mallards? We notice the shape of the beak. The nudge of orange. The grey rolling down the narrow neck and onto her back. Like dirty snow. Or clouded sky. The wonderous wings unfurl and spread every now and again. I…
Yellow
Just the other day. Yellow. As we walked through a wet forest toward an unknown place. Stop hikers and ask how far? Embarrassed after they pass. We’re mountain climbers. Trail builders. “When was the last time we did that?” my husband asks. “How far to the lake?” But we are tired after a late…
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