Monday, April 14, 2008

In Passing

Red-tailed hawks cry out from a high in a pine,
shaking loose a minor blizzard below.
Spin-trails of four-wheelers traced in new snow
look like new-age crop circles
or the landing places of intergalactic craft
that lost their way in the storm.

A man feeds hay to winter-furred Belgian horses,
his breath and theirs rising like locomotive steam;
the wagon and harness stand ready nearby.
A fishing boat cuts through snow at Elk Fork dam,
blowing tiny drifts against dead trees in the lake,
white snow on dark water.

I drive slowly, recording
each scene like a photo
to be developed later,
perhaps into a story, or
perhaps remembered only
in passing.

Susanna Holstein


Mike said...

You are one of my heroes, girl. You see it and catch it at just the right instant. When i grow up, I hope I write like you.

Fabian G. Franklin said...

This was a beautiful scene painted by some lovely words, excellent...more please.