I have been gone. The first snow has come. I share a poem I wrote many years ago to Imaging:
Together we watched the snow cover the ground
In ten minutes.
“Before it’s through
The snow will be up to the doorknob.”
Do you remember saying that?
Then we saw the golden ground give up,
The tall summer grasses, frightened,
Like old men frozen at the brink
Waiting to be smothered.
“Do not be afraid, grasses,” you said.
“Already you have seeded.
Do not shiver so.
But fight.” Do you remember how you said,
“Oh, please fight!”
And then the blood of golden grasses
Turned all white.
The geese are at the pond. The snow has covered the meadow where they often graze and food is scarce. We toss out corn at the edge of the pond. But soon the geese will fly south. Winter is upon us. I share a question with the old bull elk, and with you. Will we make it another winter?