Woodstock

                 Woodstock In Winter

    Six-point-stars frost
    black shocks of birch and ash,
    solemn skeletons in the cold blanket.

    White-tailed deer, all pivot and dash,
    high-stepped like majorettes
    in the deep snow near the swing
    and among the trees.

    Platoons of firs, planted since the fire,
    branches bound in snow like cotton
    stand at ease in lines by the road.

    The occasional Sumac conducts
    the silence with red brush hands
    as crimson mists of salmon berries
    float in the air.

    I wake and search for hours
    at the window, far into the woods
    for some sign of movement,
    a stir of wind

    Posted 2/6/02

                         The Narrows Picture

    You know that picture that hangs above my toilet,
    in the granite-colored frame, the picture that shows
    the narrow canyon carved by the Virgin River?

    You know when I bought it, I said it reminds me
    of all our hikes along the Columbia River
    in Oneconta Gorge in Oregon trying to reach
    the box canyon at the end without getting wet?

    And you know how I said I would like to hike
    back for miles in the Zion's canyon
    where the walls are close enough to touch
    and the sky can be seen only through the tiny
    notch some 2000 feet above my head?

    Well, I was standing there staring at the picture
    of the two hikers in the river
    pinched between the walls that soar
    when around the bend came another hiker
    who wasn't there before.

    He was there again this morning, along with several friends.
    Now, my newspaper has a headline two or three inches tall
    "Hikers In Zions Reported Missing!"
    Well, they've showed up on my wall.

     Posted 2/6/02