December 29, 2022

And I Die…Don’t Cry

If by a bear I’m attacked

On a gorgeous out and back

And I die…Don’t cry

If on the open road practicing skills

On my motorcycle for ultimate thrills

And I die…Don’t cry

If walking on a path through the woods

And an old tree and a breeze do me in good

And I die…Don’t cry

If playing around in a river’s water white

Filled with adrenaline and delight

I die… Don’t cry

If on my snowboard I hit the wrong edge

And careen off a steep ledge

And I die…Don’t cry

If bike, boat, boots or board was a part

of the stopping of my heart

When I Die… Don’t Cry

Take comfort that I was in my happy place

and would’ve chosen no other time and space

So I died? Don’t Cry!

But if while sitting in an office chair

In the foul blue glow of computer glare

I die…then, then you may cry.

February 21, 2021

Snow Angels

Plastic wrap gaiters secured with twine protect the transition from cotton sweatpants to leather work boots.

A well-tuned rumble shattering the muffled morning as he heads up the hill to my drive.

Snowy morning smell replaced by fumes of gas and oil immediately unearthing memories of my dad.

This vintage machine, made when machines were mostly metal, is piloted by ages of experience and a depth of mechanical knowledge I envy. It displaces snow practically, usefully, purposefully, precisely out of the way so I can move another machine about which I know so little.

“I’ll help you with the heavy snow at the end of the drive” he says while idling. “Thank you so much” I say. “Just being neighborly” he says, the end of the sentiment engulfed by the increasing throttle as he turns, heading back down the hill to home.

The cushioned silence greets me as I open the door. It’s early enough that snowblower rattles and shovel scrapes are not yet replacing Carolina Wren song.

Plodding through inches of snow, I am not yet ready to begin the tasks required to accommodate a normal day’s activities.

Heading to a flat open spot covered deep in snow, I fall backwards without worry, certain this mattress of frozen hexagons will catch me softly, conforming to my curves as much as any memory foam.

Smiling into the blue sky I move my long arms and legs in arcs, uselessly, impractically, for no reason but sensation, for no purpose but pleasure.

October 23



Vulnerable core suddenly exposed

Simply amazing how little it takes

When your heart breaks is it the sad that leaves?

Does the happy spill out when your heart breaks?


Does bursting with happiness feel the same

As breaking with sorrow when the heart grieves?

Does the happy spill out when your heart breaks?

When your heart breaks is it the sad that leaves?


Just how can a person know the difference

Between happy pains and the anguished aches?

When your heart breaks is it the sad that leaves?

Does the happy spill out when your heart breaks?


(A Mirrored Refrain)

March 21

In Like A Lion


Calendar says spring

But it’s still snowing

A vernal foot has fallen

The flakes weigh so much

Folks complain and such

Likely praying for pollen


Not me though, I’m thrilled

A snowman I’ll build

Snow any time of the year

Produces such joy

Others I annoy

As I let out a loud cheer.


(An Alouette Poem)