It's not a date, it's more important than that

though I got the day and date wrong
this was the day I thought he would come

so I scurried around, making the place
presentable and attending to primping

stopping short of braiding and fancy ribbons
checked the dinner supplies, got the kids

calmed down, ensured they had dinner and
ran some cool water, checked the yard and

checked my phone, once, twice – wondered
is it him this time or me? it’s me, of course

the farrier comes next week, though the horses
appreciated the attention on such a fine day

        

The practical test

when can we declare the world
dormant for the winter?
is it time yet?

look: bits of green persist at the root -

by definition,
“it’s not time yet.”

the leaves have grown colorful at last,
though they have not fallen.
"it's not time yet."

ice frosts the roof
clear til the midmorning sunbreak.
"is it time yet?"

here's the practical test:
breathe out. does it steam? 
breathe in. does it burn?

break out the winter comforts,
whether or not you pass.
It's time when you say.

Driving conditions: mysterious

that mist that forms over snow
when the road is half past slick
it’s a mystery, and hides mysteries

for instance: did you know
in the dark, all deer just disappear
from the face of the earth

like a conjurer’s best trick? until –
there they are! ghosts in your
headlights! and - are you slower, yet?

Over Imnaha

cloud bank over Hells Canyon
look twice!
mirage mountains

Up on the benches

sturm und drang illuminates the
slow cooked isn’t-it-spring-yet? winter season.
when summer (the-real-deal) finally comes, we're
seared in a flash fire courtesy of lightning - and
our valley settles in to be roasted. the experience is
quickly devoured - before washout comes -
before the first snow of August falls

Half sonnet for the usual and accustomed ways

sometimes when the snow falls, I think about

all those people, countless as the stars, who

lived here and left for warmer river bottoms

and winter camps every year, year after year,

in all the years before. old timers still follow that path,

know it or not. they've fired up motor homes and headed

Southwest to the desert, and taken short-sleeved shirts for show.
  

they'll be back in spring, though it comes later every year.

Early bird

Nothing so ordinary as robins nesting in tall brush.
Dee-dees calling, the fog lifts and morning begins.

Bacon on the stove; too cold for worms and early birds.