When Dreaming of a Beach…

…one must be more specific There is beauty in ice sculptures, black leaves, sand granules and zebra mussel shells Someone carved a number into the willow 251 I wonder what it meant and how long it’s become piece of the bark Are they dead and buried, the secret etched inside the tree’s history? I cannot say 251 I had not seen before The biting winter air keeps me alert, alive noticing the minute details I

Keep it to Yourself

So, this just happened. Some days it’s better to keep your mouth shut, and the snarky remarks to yourself. Who knows where I’ll be seven months from now? Who can say what’s in store? Not me, no not at all. I would not presume. I am lucky, wishing away my lucky stars. I must remember to ration some, as luck fades to black; grey drizzle, freezing temperatures, crushing storms. The