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.

0 thoughts on “Cold Blue Steel”

  1. I enjoyed the poetry, but those photos are stunning. The next to last is my favorite. There's something about it that makes me want to be there — despite the cold. And the hoarfrost is amazing. I can't remember the last time I've seen that. Years. Maybe decades.

    It's good to have your post. I've missed your work.

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