17 beats

I like to watch the dump trucks parade as they haul snow away from here.

Tired tired tired tired, also sunshine and skiing with friends.

The sign anchors the memories, and the family anchors my soul. 

Maria says she goes up to the hills to hear what she’s heard before. 

The dog and I walked out every morning, all the cold, dark winter long.

17 beats can’t hold this kick-the-snow-but-thanks-for-the-blue-sky-day. 

Fitting pieces together without directions demands discernment.

How to hold the grief, to take another step in this heart-breaking world? 

Plenty of snow and a clear sky, setting the stage for Super Snow Moon.

Perhaps her busy nose walks through the hood are like reading the paper? 

I shovel to think and I shovel because I do not have to think.

I stand in this snow globe and wonder at the road that brought me right here.

I scraped a thick layer of ice off the windshield and found art below. 

It’s just a regular day with regular stuff and also a moose.

Sometimes you get a front row seat to the magical moments of life. 

These Alaska years have taught me so many ways to think about light.

Tonight my 17 beats are best spent on this dog by the fire.

I’ve learned to trace seasons by the quality and quantity of light.