Okay, okay, okay, lots to write about, but I keep having to do things like sleep. I was down at the coast for a week, visiting friends and relations and going to a poetry writing retreat. Want to put up some pictures from that, but I'm not done editing them yet and in the interest of trying to post something on a reasonably regular basis, here's a winter poem for Ted, who blows the snow and cuts the wood and warms my body and heart!
HE GRINS LIKE A SMALL BOY
All fall he waits
for the snow to come
he’s done with rain
and the leaves have gone
when white drifts start
to form at last
he heads to the shed
to the old John Deere
and starts him up
with a putt putt putt
and blows
and blows
and blows
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