LAKE SUPERIOR SNOWFALL

Early morning snow -
fresh flakes fall gently,
knitting networks
of lace.

Jewel-fluff blankets.

A slightest puff
would pilfer their
myriad connections.

Afar off,
other snowflakes
melt seamlessly into
the immense, leaden lake.

In the quiet
stillness,
a raven
calls.

Early December

Soaring eagle
       slides by in
                the wind.
     
       Grey sky.
                River nearby.

Deferred

                             Deferred

End of November comes
     to northern Minnesota.
An amazingly warm wind
     caresses the tail, tan
           grass-clumps.

Grass that greet
     passersby with
           its graceful wave.

A slight morning rain,
     dampens the green lawn.

My desire is to
     mow the grass -
           one more time . . .

just to say that I
      did it.

But, will defer
      till later
            in the spring.

                       I sure miss
                             real winter.

W h i t e

Cimicifuga
   still in bloom - even though the
        calendar says mid-November.
   It's startlingly sweet fragrance
        commands attention.

When the breeze is just so . . .
   neighbors walk over into our
        garden to
   seek what
        smells that way.

Baneberry's reddish stalks,
   adorned with white eyes and
        tiny black pupils,
   appear to be on the search for
        their former neighbors -

   recently frost-bitten.

Plants with ever-new potential -
        but, at least for now,
    calmly await

        the white flakes of winter.

The Eyes Have It

Thunbergia along the
edges of a Kenyan
jungle where corn
fields adjoin
wilderness.

Peering from
within wild places -
yellow eyes with
dark pupils
return my gaze,
staring back at me.

Each year, I plant
the Thunbergia vines
in the deck planter.
A reminder
of beautiful flowers
in beautiful
places.

A GENTLE WINTER WIND MEDITATION

When will real
winter arrive?

Fall leaves,
reluctant to leave
their branches -
clinging beyond
welcome.

    Leaves, come on now, drop!

Stop hanging around, the
soil needs you - you have
done your bit
for this season.

     Leaves, come on now, drop!

Your chlorophyll has had
its time in the sun -
and has done what it does best.
Petiole's abscission layers
have matured.

      Leaves, come on now, drop!

All that is left is

           to
              be
                  in
                     the
                         moment.

       Leaves, come on now, drop!

Ahh . . . a gentle wind
picking up . . . just now.
More leaves
take flight.

       Leaves, come on now, drop!

I Can't Believe It . . .

I Can't Believe It . . . I Don't Want
to Believe It . . .  No Way !

I tie the lace shoestrings on my two, shiny-black
New Balance shoes every day. And then untie
them again at night. So far, that's nothing out-of-
the-ordinary.

Then, quite curious - I started to do the math.

Starting with the question:
          How many seconds (minutes, hours, days,
          weeks) does that procedure mount up to 
          over the course of an entire year?

So here goes !

    1. In one day, the simple action of tying up
        two shoes consumes 20 seconds.
    2. That means that in one full year (7,300
        seconds in a day)  X's  (365 days in a
        normal year)  it would total to
        122 hours a year.
    3. That calculates to 1,708 more hours of
         tying shoes . . .
                  should I live to 90 !

       So glad I'm not a millipede.

        (Just perhaps, I should wear slip now?)