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12/25/09 - (1)
December 25
Long and deep and far past last evening, The feather-sized flakes, getting wetter and wetter, fell, Making the streets treacherous highwaymen.
Frequently, I muddled about, outside, Not bothered by the elements pelting my hair, my eyes, While I tried to define the lake, somewhere out there,
Before finally succumbing to weariness, Disappearing into the slow, serene polar regions of dream-sleep, As if I too were frozen over, with ice.
Now, awakened into a renascence, sipping steaming coffee, I gaze at Lake Nebagamon's southern shoreline And see the cacophonous wind's voice, hear its shivering touch,
Smell its shrill shape, feel its bracing taste engaging the conifers, Relieving them of their burdensome weights — Dislodging those snowy ornaments depending from their limbs —
As it shakes them, with fifty-mile-per-hour gusting thrusts, Freeing them to their untrammeled attitudes. Doubtless, this will be afternoon's arduous, prolonged mission.
Meanwhile, I have much to accomplish, this Christmas Day, Verse-gifts to deliver, shadows to meet, old ghosts to visit, Which are, after all, the reasons I've journeyed here.
But for now — the next solitudinous hours, at least — At peace with the season, in my cozy, snowbound cabin, I'll just listen to the wind in the limbs of my mind's pines.
12/25/09 - (1)
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