Eastern Exposure

Eastern Exposure


My youngest was in his 1st year of preschool when we cleared the land, and now he’s in his last year of high school, and finally I’ve stopped demanding/dreaming/coveting my neighbor’s eastern exposure; and instead come to delight in the way my wintry days begin as a jewel, sparkling through his trees, into my welcoming hands.

(And maybe it takes 9 years of prayer to surrender to the gifts in our own hands.)

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Forced Poetry

Forced Poetry

It is impossible, is it not, to step out into our landscape,
without receiving or sensing or feeling, or in my case, spontaneously writing…
poetry.

How this soft, silent, sparkling world of fresh snow
with stenciled trails made by tiny paws,
and carved paths, made by larger ones–mine–

In a southernly snow-shoed spiral on the front lawn
just beyond the waves of White tossed
by Jimmy Cloud’s plow late last night

Is now being sprinkled by fairy dust falling
from the blue sky, or is it the Evergreen
boughs shaking

Upon me
as I write
this verse
in my mind.

March Mythology

March Mythology

The bright spring sun has melted all

but the edges

of snow

outlining the yard

where last summer’s grasses

step toe-to-toe

with the dark woods

in a tango

of seasons


The snow there is just a sliver

of moon

on a bed

of hay-


And my eyes

so accustomed to all things

“white”

Turn the trunks of neighboring

birches

into funnels

for Winter’s exit

Stage Left

Earth

to

Sky



3/31/09  marlboro, vt
Cinderella Story

Cinderella Story

The world has turned from red to pumpkin

pumpkin colored sky upon the birch

pumpkin colored road, all crunchy

pumpkin colored carriage whisking children back to school

pumpkin colored world

made so by the magic wand

of the sun

who offers this last bold act

of color

before we open

into the long

winter night

of white.

Kelly Salasin, October 09