With the official arrival of winter overnight tonight, I offer a wintry poem from Tinted Distances (Turning Point Books, 2011), my current collection of poetry:
The black clot of an empty nest rests
. . . . . in one fork of this winter tree, all its
thin branches now white and bending
. . . . . under the weight of a new snowfall.
Spots of cloud cover still fill the ridge
. . . . . line, their lengthening shadows drawn
across a hill’s little drifts or flat patches. . . . . of brown lawn that had been exposed
by this morning’s wind like vivid traces. . . . . of an earlier layer of stain. Before long,
the vague sunshine finally fails to filter. . . . . through even these few remaining knots
of cumulus and gives way to gradually. . . . . changing shades of gray, as if the faded
landscape has been painted over once. . . . . more, the stripe of horizon taken away
by feathered edges brushed under soft. . . . . strokes in pigments granting a darker tint.
I invite readers to discover more about the poetry in Tinted Distances, and I remind everyone that the volume is available for purchase.