Putting my fishing gear away,

I pick up the rod

And see a fly attached.

How much it means to stand in

The river…

The beauty;

The calm;

Worries left on the river bank.

The Battenkill beckons.

The winter sun through

the bare branches

reflected on the surface.

We’ll get to spring.

We always do.

December 12, 2021

(a new one by my friend David Belmont)

I’ve got those come and go blues
                        Gregg Allman, 1973

from the vantage point of an individual life
aging is an ongoing process that ends in death

from the vantage point of world history 
deaths are wounds on the surface of a pond

from the vantage point of the universe
death and aging are barely distinguishable

(somewhere on the cosmic radar screen
but where? does it matter?)

another train leaving another station
sometimes you’re on it, sometimes you’re not 

There’s a poem somewhere.

Is it in my head?

Not exactly.

Is it in the yard?

Partly.

Do the dogs hear  it?

I hope so.

Do you want to?

I’d love it if you did.

If I wait any more,

Until I know what’s it’s about,

It may be lost forever.

December 10, 2021