The Untroubled Fox (from the journal)

The golden sun guides
our way home now as
we roll forward into spring. 2-1-12


White cloud,
blue sky,
brown oak leaves,
green hollies,
all quiver with sparkles,
with the light wind,
with squirrel’s twitching tail,
and with the trot of the black-footed fox. 2-1-12


Sitting here with bladdernut
waiting for warmth,
for leaves,
for flowers
and shady days. 2-6-12


Again the red fox,
his black feet making paths now
to places his wet nose leads him. 2-9-12


The great oak
bears the light snow
lightly. 2-11-12


In the beginning it was a passion for things seen—
the pink cherries on a green hill,
the blue chicory,
the curl of torquada’s leaves.

Then it was for things heard—
the water flowing in Sespe Creek,
the two-note call of mourning dove,
the sea moving across damp sand.

And then it was for light—
the setting orange sun on the face,
the blue and pink clouds in the eyes,
the winter light that barely warms the hands.

Now it’s waiting, waiting for breath
to round out all the moments and all the memories,
even this memory, colorless, without passion,
as deep and as wide as winter’s moving light. 2-11-12


Dull winter light
spills down maple’s downward branches,
pools at honeysuckle’s roots,
a dry light without weight. 2-14-12


Clearly blue,
blue jay’s one note
knocks across the blue morning. 2-15-12


Imprisoned here
behind glass,
the wind moves,
the sparkles move.
I do not move.
There is no breath. 2-20-12


I stop
for the untroubled fox
running on three legs. 2-21-12


Here next to holly
little green leaves
pivot in the sun--
early spring dance. 2-26-12


Honeysuckle considers bringing
green order to its messy brown twigs—
an ordered march toward March. 2-28-12