Sitting, staring at the wintry storm, I wonder where and when
The gift of life first fell like snow and flattened and what then?
I wonder how and where the sky at first began to call?
Was the grey above and white below a token or a treasure of it all?
The New Year’s Day is calm and staid, its unadventurous tick overt
There’s nothing more compelling than my thoughts to keep alert.
Instead the shadowy sky and emerald freezing water of the river flow
Upon the horizon and upriver to Appleton as they did so long ago.
Do we dare to take a chance, to start anew and freshen all we were?
Does time remain to rewrite the image upon the ground that’s left to spare?
Or will we like it dampen and dissolve then evaporate and disappear?
I sit and watch, and nod asleep, regarding the view from here.