Busybody Wind
Busybody wind always rearranging things.
Once the snow falls it sets to work
moving some here, and some there. Piling
it just so. It thinks
The cows should be white with snow
and sees to it. It works a broken
fencepost like a tongue works a loose tooth,
back and forth and back and forth.
Driving through the white of the blizzard, I follow the fence:
An endless musical staff where the wind writes
breathy dirges. Each fencepost an eight step
measure walked off some past sunny day.
Arpeggios of dry sunflower heads cluster
like notes in a Coltrane solo. Tumbleweeds
tangled and knotted in the barbwire crescendo
into dense piles in the fence corners.
Trailing behind the tumbleweeds, snow
drifts out in long slow melodies.
In the corral it is still.
I watch steam rise from a hot, wet
newborn calf while its mother starts
licking the newness away.
Friday, February 24, 2012 at 05:37PM
Reader Comments (5)
Oh, how I miss you guys and the world that surrounds you. Thanks for the new post, the music of your winter, the hopeful colors always just above or under or reflecting on what snow erases.
neato
Ned,
Really nice photos and poem. Felt the need for hot chocolate after viewing both.
You are the modern day John Keats.
nice. in the jumble of city life, traffic on 225 and university politics, this made my day. thanks