Moonlight globe

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Moonlight globe

The moonlight is reflecting off the glossy snow
shining like good meringue.
The ice capped snow is smooth
and curved as a women’s belly.
I can hear the wind moving the trees
yet no lose crystal can the wind find
to skitter across the snow rink yard.

It is high night yet
there is so much light splashing from
moon to snow,
snow to moon
that the scene is stage lit.

Lit with a silky, white light
not the yellow light of day
but light scrubbed pure by moon rock.
White light
like the godseed that lives inside me
has poured out surrounding my nest
in a globe of protection.
No wind, no hurt, no ego shall enter.
A sanctuary where love and gratefulness
push away the unknown of darkness.

I leave the window
to go back to bed
to snuggle safely
in the warmth of my Love.

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Orion sitting on the horizon

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Orion sitting on the horizon

Orion sitting on the horizon
Has the wide world gone cockeyed?
Where is the moostache moon?
Winking at the does feasting in the soybeans.

Orion you dance atop the trees
So much to be happy about
Out and about
In this small locale
My home
Where lives my Love
My Love and I
knit like a sweater
even when the far away world
threatens to unravel
on their silly, petty stages,
we are here with Orion, the moon, and the pregnant does
feasting on soybeans
feasting on soybeans and a field ripe with love.

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Cold is turning me to stone

cold is turning me to stone.jpg
Cold is turning me to stone

Bundled to high heaven,
or at least four layers,
we set off snowmobiling
on a minus degree day

as the sun waned,
the cold began to seep in
layer by layer
until it hit skin
then thin boney fingers of cold
like spider webs
wriggled their way into
my joints, muscle and sinew.

I pried my stiff body off the machine
ratcheting my legs and back
into a standing position.

Even my face moved slowly
like waxed canvas
stretched over cement cheek bones.
The extreme cold is nature’s Botox.

This must be what old feels like.
Rheumatic stone body
not painful
just unresponsive.
Gone is articulation
when bursa disappears
and bones fuse.

Post trip
still in my under layers
serving now only to hold the cold
dragged in from outside
to my bloodless arms,
I finally feel the chill.
Folding my arms and fuzzy blanket around me
does not affect a thaw.
Only marinating in a long hot shower
melts the stone
like Vinz Clortho, Keymaster of Gozer
hatching from a gargoyle.

With warm skin, bones and joints
I am restored
awakened from the diving reflex
alive and thriving
and ready for spicy chicken nachos
with extra cheese.

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Plunge into winter

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Plunge into winter
by Dawn Anderson

Plunge into winter
Shake off the stink of summer
and log those snowy miles.
Whether it is knee deep
in cascade fluff on snow shoes
or ditch banging on snowmobile in da UP.

Snow is a kind of annual baptism,
a washing away of the aging of the year
in preparation for a fresh new year
of playful youthfulness, joy, friendship
and strengthening of the body and soul.

So strap on those skis, cross-country or downhill,
doesn’t matter,
just plunge into winter,
commune with the blanketed trees,
breathe in gulps of crisp dry air
under a blue-gray sky
for our rebirth,
our rechristening,
to not succumb to a serious grown up life
as we capture and hold that youthful joy of snow.

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Fog through Grandma’s crystal

Fog through Grandma’s crystal

It seems fitting,
a fine table setting of rose china,
Grandma’s delicate crystal
and creamy silver spoons
waiting a top a white pressed tablecloth
all back-dropped by a sheer curtain of frost fog
like tulle draped across the windows
ready for a lovely tea party
complete with petit fours, little tea sandwiches
and lumps of sugar
to sweeten the occasion.

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A murder of crows is up to something

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A murder of crows is up to something

Roosters crow
and crows caw
except when they are on a gut pile
hording it for themselves.
Alas, their gang of big sleek black
silhouetted against the white birth
and blue sky
does not go unnoticed.
Soon the hawk and flicker
find the find.
Next skunk and coyote
raid the stash
until nothing but a bit of fur
remains of the remains
in the grass.

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Fluff of dreams

Fluff of dreams

Place a wish upon a seed
and give it to the wind.
Wind will find a home
for your dream
where it can take root
near a stream
or field’s edge
to grow and multiply
and take wing
back to you.

Dreams are like boomerangs.
Set them free,
talk to about them,
add rooms,
and a light,
maybe some glitter.

Then, simply
step off the first step
into the beginning
of the journey
from fluff to stuff.

This is how dreams come true.

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