chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

Tag Archives: February

found poem: the winter

found poem: you left

found poem: SKY A STORY

found poem: dressed

It’s snowy…

the ideal…

the snows…

Snowy Owl Copyright © 2011, Alan D. WilsonYesterday, the snowy owls. At home, a few snowflakes fall into the partially sunny morning, then stop. We drive north, lunch in a nearly-empty Mexican restaurant. Just across the border, the snow begins in earnest, blowing hard at the car, sticking.

Just as quickly, it’s over, scraps of blue sky, raggedy clouds, storm moving across the wide Delta in dark columns. At Boundary Bay, wind, chaotic sky, but no rain or snow.

We see whitish lumps far out toward the water, but even with binoculars can’t quite distinguish them from bleached logs or plastic bags. Then, glancing down at the tumbled logs just below the trail, round white heads. Two. No, three. Perhaps 40 feet away, watching, unperturbed by the fans, the paparazzi, the dogs, the overflying bald eagles. The spotting scope brings them close. We watch. The doll-like swiveling of their heads, the slow and complicated closing of their eyes, which look like watching eyes even when they’re closed.

We walk on, our own eyes learning the language of owls, now seeing them there, and there, and there. Mostly they sit in the lee of logs, watch, sleep, preen, but some perch on snags and a couple fly on wide white wings, one gliding impossibly, on and on, not more than four inches off the ground. Magnificent.
photo copyright © 2011, Alan D. Wilson

February 26…

birth announcement by Dorothy KTheir Christmas card had pictured Dorothy’s bulging belly.

A couple of months later, this one — hand drawn, hand colored, my mother’s red hair, my dad’s strong chin, and, pink-blanketed, me.

February hope…

snowdropThe garden still wears its northwest winter shroud — dull gray twigs, bare soil. But here and there, spring fattens under the occasional sun, the hectic rains. This is not a lavish seen-from-afar display, but the small reward of close inspection: a spreading pad of purple hellebore leaves, the first snowdrops, clumps of daffodil greens, tight curls of tulip tops. And on the dry stalks of plum, apple, dogwood, hydrangea, crabapple, minuscule new growth elbowing out to sniff the air.

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