Speak hard to winter for me. I need to blink again a couple of times I think, for it to come around, for it to fade and only then come clean.We ask , forgetting we already know, will the silence last? Some dream like snow unfallen goes lightly where before there was only breath, contrived…

Last night’s serenity has become tonight’s cacophony. Dry tree limbs clattering like old bones and young, lissom branches bending and whistling and singing in chorus. Occasionally, one limb will become the bow and the other limb becomes the fiddle string. The air is alive and warm, the sky is grey and indifferent. The mighty Southwind…

Yes, the physical beauty of the world is more subtle in winter, and serenity is the reward for those who take the time to find the green within the grays and browns. Those searching for beauty now must adopt a slower pace, wait a little longer to see what comes to the surface, try a…

February is the last hurdle, the last month that doesn’t carry at least a hint of spring in its name. This is the one you grit your teeth over, the one that tests your resolve, the one that used to be a terror, back when we had real winters. But maybe that’s just Kansas these…

The giant chevron flights of geese have moved on, the ones that are here now are the ones that have decided that this spot between the two rivers is a decent place to settle down and raise up some young’uns,. Tonight, they’re definitely in courtship mode, flying low and solo up the river singing out…

As the full moon wanes, I celebrate the birthday of my spiritual brother. My logical brother and my sensual brother were born in the spring. Mark and I and our sisters were born in the winter. We all carry the lore of our family, each with their own volume. The last time the brothers were…

The sleek thighs of the prairie rise in remembrance and reclamation, bearing grass as fruit and wind as wine and stars as beads of sweat. The sweep of the breast and the rise of the hip shape the sky and pull the weary traveler into a clear pool of dreams and flesh and molten honey….

A pink dream wrapped in a feather pillow, loose on a moonlit night, a kiss with eyes open, with arms linked, with the past and the future fused into the river banks, never to meet, but always married by the water. Magic must come from somewhere, sometimes it rides in on the backs of the…

The silver serenade of the full wolf moon has begun, finessing the notes balanced on either side of the harmony, laying the melody out like a silk coverlet across the winter grass. There’s no chorus, just verse after brilliant verse. She wears a magnificent halo as she slips out of the dark cloak of clouds…

The full moon rose at 7:02 to a thick mask of clouds across the sky. It was still hidden at 7:30 when I got home, but by eight, when I left the house, it had just started to present itself, scrubbed clean and polished, burning through the brutish clouds as they backed out the door,…