This time of bad news,
the river, mostly frozen,
ice breaks here and there.

Along the river
our steps are matched by these three
silent winter swans.

For Jerry

This time of bad news,
the creek takes another form
in the fading light.

This time of bad news,
the creek sounds like faint music
under thick white ice.

Ducks hunt for acorns
on the iced-over river —
they roll and chase them.

Still and Sunday-like,
ice locks parts of the river,
animals walk it.

Three Trumpeter swans
glide on the frozen river,
chat to each other.

Red-winged blackbirds sing
here at the heart of the world,
among the tall trees.

Sun wakes winter moss,
ice that will become spring pools
melts and reflects sky.

Thinking about birds,
trees, unlivable today,
after the ice storm.

This beautiful land,
unforgiving as the moon,
grateful to walk it.

Mysterious life,
owls hoot from across the lake,
everything turns blue.

There’s the sad story,
the hawk who needs to eat, too,
the endless gray days.