#17 winter solstice 2011

| No Comments
The gray day slid away quickly.  Before I knew it I caught a glimpse of the red sun slipping behind another cloud band. In the fading light I shuffled with Warren and the dog around the pond in the fading light. Shifting shadows, hundreds of diving ducks, and a biting wind trailed alongside.

17-stancills-bowl-7755.jpgThe Day Is Gray and the Lake

shifts, mercurial,
like modeling clay,

the million thumbs
of wind at work upon it,

the artist unable to come

to a single conclusion.

Just what shape should
this cold lake take

this morning?
And the trees surrounding?

The maker can't
make up his mind, always

fussing. He shuffles
the shoreline shadows

like a paint-chip deck.
The reeds.

The nervous birds.
The toads, forever lost

on mud's malleable maps.

Everything's a mess

and genius all at once,
a school for unruliness.

Even the stones second
guess themselves, eroding.

And there: a wash of sunshine,
and some people, boating.

--Todd Boss in Yellowrocket

Leave a comment