December 2022 Poetry

Image by kinkate from Pixabay
The other day I was at our cabin. 
A powdery snow fell at night 
And I awoke to a stellar glory 
Of pine and sky and crystals. 

I headed out on cross country skis 
Along the roads that snake around Rosita. 
Honeysuckle, Chokecherry, and Paintbrush 
Entwine our subdivision of Blumenau. 

The roads are rarely covered enough 
For skiing and I shuss-shussed along. 
But I soon became bored and realized 
My Nordic affliction. 

The roads were too gentle and wide. 
There was no twist or fear or corner. 
It was just one long stride after another. 

And I realized how like life this is. 
The speedy downs thrill 
And the steep ups challenge 
But the flats stifle. 

Riding the joys of life downhill is easy 
And humping up the steeps is hard but 
At least you make progress and perhaps 
People help you along the way. 

But the interminable flats are weary 
And perhaps this is why the pandemic 
Has so challenged. And why, as a torture, 
Sisyphus is made to roll the rock up the hill 
Again and again. It’s not the challenge of the task; 
It’s the boredom of the repetition. 
David C. Reynolds 
Mountain View Electric consumer-member
Snow Dunes 
Soft round drifts 
Curling around rocks 
In the snow-filled meadow. 

Hedgehog mounds 
With spiny shards of ice 
Perching on hidden rocks. 

Natural, clear ice-cycles 
Hanging from snow-laden trees 
Molting slowly in the sun. 

Weeds bent into corn-husk dolls 
With billowed, white aprons 
Eating dollops of ice cream snow. 

While I cross-country ski 
In the winter meadow. 
Carol Fortino 
San Isabel Electric consumer-member
Winter has come to the rangelands 
and brought with it diminishing light. 
Nebulous forms now blanket the sky 
obscuring the sun’s warming rays. 

Nature’s vast nursery of children, 
whose home is this stark shadowland, 
wander and paw at once fertile ground 
trying to keep hunger at bay. 

Antelope, dogs, horses and deer, 
domestic or wild at heart, 
rely on ones they fear the most 
to reach out and show them the way. 

For human hands are capable 
of great kindness and terror alike. 
Compassion dwells deep in each soul, 
though in some it’s more hidden away. 

Winter has come to the rangelands 
and with it the spirit of hope, 
that mankind and beast may soon 
live in peace – for this 
I will bow down and pray. 
Cynthia Bullock 
Mountain View Electric consumer-member