Winter, evening—same thing, that late phase of life. It’s a good time and I’m in it. I walk outdoors often, listening outward and inward. Sometimes a poem comes.
LIFE, LIBERTY, HAPPINESS
I’d stopped by the evening tree
(or else was stopped below it)
when there arose in me
this deep-felt certainty:
It’s one thing to be free,
but a better thing to know it.
Hickory Creek is a quiet place. Our doings don’t get much notice, except for an occasional drowning or meth lab bust. So I doubt this week’s rail car rescue made the news, except among neighbors and the contractors involved.
It’s three weeks into official winter and we’ve experienced highly fluctuating weather here in Arkansas. An early snow-and-ice storm blew through in early December. Another arrived in early January, dropping the overnight temperature to -12 degrees. Directly after that, a warm rain washed away the icy remnants and sunned the landscape with afternoon temperatures approaching the 60’s. Today’s wind—thankfully from the south—continues the recent refreshing blow-dry.
“How do poems come to be?”
I was invited to answer that question recently. After a decade of writing poems, I could honestly answer, “Any which-way.” Today’s “Trading Partners” is a good example. It derived from the crow tracks pictured above. Other influences can be tracked as well…
These are some of my favorite poems this month. (They are still drafts, not final versions, and may not be shared outside this website without permission. Thank you.)