Middle Weather

The cold rain falls

Wind whips it helter skelter

Change of seasons upon us

Still caught in the grips of winter

March comes hither

In like a lion

Roaring, clawing at windows

Best take shelter

Then, out like a lamb

Strange days on a northern strand

Numbing Days

Odyssey of ice

The northern trails I follow

Call out through the forest, bare branches ring hollow

Timbers littered with standing dead

In the mute season, we all look the same

Dread grey, sleet white, frostbite black

The long path

Some don’t come back