Friday, December 12, 2014

Cold Blue Steel


The days are short in mid December.

You have to chase light, what little of it is left to catch. 

But without sun there is drama,

a pull to water and sky,

the frosted tips of dead-still trees and bent, frozen grasses.  


At first glance, you think, there’s so much emptiness here. 

As if colorless is akin to depression, a voided wasteland. 

There is noise, daily noise not far away on a highway of commuters. 

There are voles, scurrying under snow mounds, trying to punch out a living here. 

Moose tracks. Your dog in a perpetual zig-zag of ground sniffing



Hoar frost. Old wooden beams. Steel.




You wait for the thunder of a train to rummage steel tracks over the frozen river. 

But your fingers and toes won’t wait long; the hairs in your nose freeze. 

Despite first impressions, there is life in cold places.


Power. Noise. 

And silence.