Birthday Poem

Happy birthday!

Sprigs of hemlock hang low with frost. The blue-green spruce stands in contrast to the seas of fog covering the valley.

Heart shaped leaves of cottonwood hang stiff and sing autumns choral defiance.

It’s the first frost and today,

It is your birthday.

Today is the First Day. It’s like this. And it isn’t.

You stretch like the cedar, and fall like the pine.

Your history, your every lived moment, and those of your ancestors, ones you’ve known -and those you never knew- stretch back and reach forward in this now.

You are the rising sun hidden behind evergreen mountains and cottontail fog.

You are the memory of every spoken verse. The cascading waves of light, dancing in the permafrost glow.

You are the seasons change. And I may never know your name, but this is how I know you.


Either this dog is getting old or he’s just gotten used to the sunshine and warm nights. Taking a leisurely approach to sniffing for bugs and new growth. Sniffing  for evidence of change. He’s forgotten what it was like to have to hoof it back home in the rain. He’s forgotten how rain patter on leaves can fool you into looking over your shoulder, looking into the shadows of bushes and trees. No moon, only clouds and… no stopping for glances to the heavens. Not tonight.  He’s had it too easy, he’s become soft. Change, though, is in the air. The cool breeze tickles the leaves and soon we’ll fall.


What am I in such a rush for?

caught between the undeniable

inertia that grips me and the

desire to plow forward.