“Atmospheric river?”, yawn…
But “bomb cyclone”? Yikes!
Still, how bad could it be?
Sure, the power went off at the restaurant,
But that was after my martini arrived
And the salad by candlelight felt romantic
That is, until the near-miss tree fall at home
And the next day’s traffic light blackouts
All-way-stop is not universally understood, turns out
Maybe all the creature comforts and “progress”
Is more of a house-of-cards than we think
Something we take for granted fails
Or, I don’t know, people vote for someone
Who thinks a brain worm victim should run healthcare
And we find out how precarious it all is
If we can’t really count on each other in a pinch
Okay, where did I put that extra flashlight?
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Samara Socks
the black cold days
of December when
varied thrushes scratch
to reveal bare ground
unmoving dark shrouds
cedar hemlock alder
silhouette against the
blue steel sky
their snags stab its vacancy
reminding us of vortex
winds that twist them
in two winter weapons
spent maple samara
wings fluttering in a breeze
drooping socks on
their bare branch clothesline
launder our hopes
cleanse our souls
teach gratitude for neighbors
with 4-wheel drives