I (by bike):
Turn from bars to hear
shreik of the eagle.
Watch the white head soar
over the lake.
Dappled sun and a few puddles
to mark my tracks.
The foundation of the mother mountain
shows her warm weather snow.
A large beaver carves a wide wake
and rides along with me.
II (by foot):
Conversations with old friends,
ghost dog at our side.
Santa practices leaps and tricks
for tomorrow's big water ski moment.
Trail is flagged with memories;
they want to rip out the holly and ivy,
and plant themselves back in this native greenery.
III (by bike):
Christmas eve storm blew down
gifts of leaves, branches,
deep puddles. I push pedals against
lingering wind
and a bit of timely sunshine.
Mast poles sing songs.
My morning community of two wheeled souls
celebrating,
again two folks with matching dogs,
again the beaver,
and the cycles continue,
this time the wind at my back.
IV (by foot):
We walk quickly
as if we can run away,
or run towards
men who need more time.
The sun is sinking
and the stairs are only steep going up.
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