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.

A man feeds hay to furry Belgian horses,

his breath and theirs 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.

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, short poems, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to In Passing

  1. mamabug says:

    Girl you definitely need to put all these wonderful poems in a book. They are awesome!

  2. grannysu says:

    Thanks, Mama-bug! Maybe one day I’ll get it pulled together. Retirement is looking busier and busier the closer I get.

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