Why do
I sit here
in this recliner
on this bleak wintry day
and think of
sausage biscuits and gravy
when I
scarcely ever eat them
or even dream of them?

Isn’t it odd
what the mind
sometimes conjures up
amidst
all of its serious agenda?

Perhaps  your mind
never takes detours
that are inexplicable
yet tasty.

I felt a puff within my heart
that blew away the sadness
that had come to dwell with me.
It wasn’t answered  prayer
for I’d not prayed for  it to go away.
In fact, I think i clung to it
and felt were it to leave
I’d be disloyal to my memories.
Beyond the gloom came rescue
that I never sought
and wondered how it came to be
and what I’d do without the pain.

Most of the time
the many paintings on the walls
surrounding where I daily wander
receive so little notice –
paintings , gifts and purchases
woven into the fabric of our lives
by our unfolding years.
But every now and then
I  pay attention
selecting one and culling
all the memories that it inspires.

The swings in the school yard
are still, save when the wind blows
and then they seem to shiver.
They are blanketed with snow.

Tomorrow the children will return –
the swing seats will be swept of snow
and  sounds of laughter
will reclaim the silence.

Not so with the nearby graveyard.
No one will clear away
the alabaster beauty
laid upon the tombstones
by the recent storm.

This time of year
around here
the sun rise
gets tangled up
in the branches of winter trees
and seems to struggle
to be free.
It’s as if
it has a hard time
starting the day.
I know people like that
and it takes them
longer than the sun
to rise and shine.

When the dawn
cleared the sky of darkness
and the blue canopy returned
to claim the sky
jet stream clouds
crisscrossed above me
looking like
a two year old’s crayon marks
on construction paper
that a grand parent
dutifully admires
and suggests
there might be an artist
in the family.

It’s about ten miles
from the pasture
bordering the homes nearby
to the town that
provides our wherewithal–
ten miles now so familiar
that its contours
are etched upon our minds.
It took awhile
for this to come to pass
but now it’s there
as an engraving –
one shared
by all the folks
who live nearby.

So few snow flakes fall
I can almost count them all.

Tiny parachutes
spiraling to the frozen earth.

I lose sight of them
when they land upon the ground.

But then others come
and they will until they’re done.

If I had expected life
to turn out as it has
I wonder if I’d be better off
for all the knowing.

Deprived of mystery
fate’s unfolding
could be boring.
Or we might wince
at what we know will come to pass.

To know the score
before the game starts
isn’t what makes
our worlds go round.

It happens most mornings
early
when folks around here
are still sleeping.
It’s not spectacular
like the sunrise.

Who wants to pay attention
to stars fading
when another hour in bed
is so desirable?
Probably a few fools
who don’t need much
to  turn them on –
like stars turning off.

So quietly does it happen –
this silent exit of their light.
I wonder if the birds
and critters in the woods
take notice.