It has snowed here. Again. And I've had no time to go outside and take pictures of the Winter Wonderland that is the back yard (or the front yard for that matter). Mrs. Ricardipus is stringing lights on the tree, the classic Anne Murray Christmas album is playing on the stereo, and the whole family spent the day at a nearby mall shopping, going to see Santa, and enjoying the snowy countryside between here and there, horse farms and sheep and Christmas tree farms and all. The photo is a taste of last year, but it's beginning to look like that again.
In a snarky mood, as I am once again plowing through a large grant application (not ours this time, but one I'm reading through for various reasons), so for the remainder of the post you get some ancient, recycled poetry. Standard disclaimers apply, of course - these were written at least twenty years ago, trying to capture the bleakness of a winter far, far to the north of here.
Recycled picture, recycled words, recycled ideas. A veritable hat-trick of blogging.
Three Seasonal Fragments
i.
the knives
in the winterstorm
tear
shreds of flesh
deer meat
in cracking
ice-snow
ii.
in the darkness
of peace
the inner length
the knife
lies
iii.
I am suffering
heat-death
I am experiencing
combustion
I am a moss-fire
slowburning
