Our Whidbey Year

First snows reignite childhood awe, yet make us anxious about our vulnerabilities to slick roads, iced walks. I woke Saturday morning to see my skylight coated with white that fell sometime Friday night and made some photographs to accompany my poem Frost.

etches dead leaf edgephoto (15)
knifes afternoon light
numbs my neck     feet

red tail shriek     eagle mew

excerpt from “Frost”

 

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