"Where a prairie creek runs..."

In the Late Season

by Tom Hennen

At the soft place in the snowbank
Warmed to dripping by the sun
There is the smell of water.
On the western wind the hint of glacier.
A cottonwood tree warmed by the same sun
On the same day,
My back against its rough bark
Same west wind mild in my face.
A piece of spring
Pierced me with love for this empty place
Where a prairie creek runs
Under its cover of clear ice
And the sound it makes,
Mysterious as a heartbeat,
New as a lamb.

"In the Late Season" by Tom Hennen, from Darkness Sticks to Everything. © Copper Canyon Press, 2013. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)  From "The Writer's Almanac"

Photo by Brent

After Thirty Years

After Thirty Years

David Budbill

Thirty years in one place.
Thirty vegetable gardens in the same soil.
Thirty woodsheds filled and emptied.
Thirty years through the woods and mountains
on the same trails.

This is an age of frantic travel and people think
I am a fool for never going anywhere.
It's okay. I don't care.
In another time I would have been a sage
for doing what I haven't done.

Source: Moment to Moment

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Photo by Brent