Snow Bound Hollow

Snow Bound Hollow

I have spent too much time detailing weather

as if it presumed my mood

and it did or dictated the need for color

living alone in a snow bound hollow.

While the canvas went blank outside

and in, apathy to life muffled

down about the throat, with only the tweets

of gold finch still dull green and titmouse.

Long intervals of nothingness punctuated

by jays and the high ordinance of cardinals.

So much is white or black or gray that brown

appears glorious as it seeps through snow.

I reconnect with slime.