The Old Man sat out front and watched
As the sky started to change
The clouds were forming quickly
They were looking rather strange

He said "It's time to round  'em up"
"Get ready for a ride"
"We've got to get the horses"
"And get them all inside"

"A day, maybe two at most"
"We'd best get set to hunker down"
"It won't be long before"
"We see more white than brown"

"Those clouds on the horizon"
"The way they dip and make that hole"
"That's the Window Into Winter"
"On that, I'd bet my soul"

He walked into the bunkhouse
Grabbed his gear, and looked around
He yelled, "That's The Window Into Winter"
"Snow, will soon be on the ground"

Now, normally, the clouds roll in
There's a storm and then the snow
With The Window Into Winter
It gives us time, it lets us know

"Someone get a list made"
"We need supplies, and need them fast"
"That Window won't stay open"
"It's gonna close, it will not last"

"Heed the Window into Winter"
"It gives us one more chance before"
"Jack Frost and all his helpers"
"Come knocking at our door"

Now, remember when you see it
Between the clouds up in the sky
There's a hole between the mountains
And that says, that Winter's nigh

It's The Window Into Winter
Now get along and get to work
Bring the horses in and hurry
There's things to do, so do not shirk

Once the hole has closed up tightly
And the clouds are all but one
Then The Window Into Winter
Will be no more, the fall is done.

The stranger rode up
as we sat round the fire
it was burning down low
and we were beginning to tire

He tied off his ride
By some brush by a boulder
He was just a young lad
Though in the dark he looked older

We offered him coffee
said sit down, have a cup
We said if you're hungry
There's still food to sup

He accepted and thanked us
Said he'd got lost on the trail
With the north winter winds
Bringing on early hail

He pulled up a stump
I saw a slight flash of tin
I said "you're a lawman"
he just gave a grin

I'm from up in Kansas
was back to my home
Had to visit my mama
she's all on her own

I poured him a coffee
And I told him what's what
I said it isn't the best
But, it's sure as heck hot

I smiled at his lie
And I stoked at the fire
I thought to myself
This man's a liar

I said "in this here circle"
"we may not all be friends"
"so, toss a log on this fire"
"and we'll hear how this ends"

He reached for a log
placed it in, didn't throw
didn't reach for the poker
moved it round with his toe

"The rules of the fire"
"Is that the tender regales"
"The rest of the members"
"with a song or some tales'

"since you just got here"
"and the fire is hot"
"tell us a story"
"give the best that you've got"

He shuffled a little
Took a sip, and began
And it just took a minute
To hook us all, every man

He talked of the rustlers
He'd been chasing around
How they got in a shoot out
How, they'd all gone to ground

He lived life a plenty
For a man of his age
He was just twenty three
But, he spoke out like a sage

He'd regaled us with stories
As the fire burned low
We were all getting tired
But, we did not want to go

He pushed at the embers
Again with his boot
He finished his coffee
And he lit a cheroot

For two hours he talked
Since the fire rules said
that the fire was his
Till we chose to all bed

When we woke in the morning
We found he took flight
He left our small fire
In the dead of the night

The fire was burning
And there was a fresh *** of brew
But the stranger was missing
And our saddle bags too

I was right when I reckoned
That he was telling us lies
I could tell from the way
He didn't look in our eyes

The boots didn't fit
He was just stretching them out
By heating them up in the fire
and moving about

He sure was no lawman
He was a teller of tales
Truths , half truths and lies
He had them by the pail

We packed up our camp
Tried to pick up the trail
Of this campfire thief
With the devilish tail

We knew we'd find him
For liars repeat
He'd come back to our fire
And we'd give him a seat....

I remember watching Grandad
Whenever it would rain
He would walk around the house a lot
You could tell he was in pain

See, Grandad fought in World War One
Though he never said a word
He was hearing things inside his head
Things no one ever heard

He hated rain, it made the mud
And that's where it began
Fighting, deep within the trenches
Keeping dry as best you can

Everything was always wet
You fought the ***, and fought the sky
The battle in the trenches seemed
To find ways to keep dry

Fifty yards away, no more
The enemy was waiting
Would today be when we made a move
Both sides always waiting

There were no birds up in the sky
Just clouds and all that rain
That war was stuck in Grandads head
And it was driving him insane

My dad would watch as Grandad walked
To hide from that **** sound
You know that all he thought of then
Was that trench, and muddy ground

You'd wrap yourself in what you could
You'd use  uniforms of the dead
Taken from your cohorts
Soaked in mud, and stained blood red

Boots, soaked through like paper
Feet wrapped up as best you could
The mud was everlasting
It covered everything but good

Dad, said it was painful
To watch Grandad on those days
He would hide so deep within himself
In a deep, dark, mental maze

The sun, it never dried the earth
The water just sat in little pools
With the sunlight bouncing off of it
Leaving drops shining like jewels

The smell, of rotting corpses
Piled high down at the end
Bodies of the fallen
The bodies of your friends

Dad said it was different
When he went off to fight
It wasn't like his father's war
It was just like day and night

I remember when my Grandad passed
It rained the whole day through
I remember as they lowered him
Now, I know what Grandad knew

The mud, the worms, the water
Filled his little six foot trench
And everyone was soaked on through
In my mind, I smelled the stench

I feel sorry for my Grandad
Because in truth, I like the rain
And I feel so sorry for him
That it caused him so much pain

The horror of the battle
And the act of keeping dry
You might defeat the enemy
But, not both...but, you'd try

I remember watching Grandad
And of how he hated rain
But, my Grandad was my hero
And, now I know...he's out of pain

When Autumn kissed the tree,
its leaves blushed and fell.
Starlings took to wing,
oh what scandal they had to tell

Internal scream yearns to echo
lacking surface to rebound
when insides are hollow
a cry is the loneliest sound.
Breaking silence's seal
anguish looms worse
when none care to listen
desperate pleas become cursed.

My heart feels old today
it rattles like a stone in a can.
My eyes feel cold today
as they strain for gems in a prospector's pan.
My feet feel heavy today
trudging the ruts I've created time and again.
My thoughts feel tired today
they eloped with all hope and ran.

She never once asked why
I keep the twisted rosewood stick
or if it holds significance.
Or why Flann O'Brien's
"At swim two birds." has a place
by itself on the shelf.
She never understood my love
of jazz, metal or classical music
or wondered why
Hieronymus Bosch and Caravaggio prints
are in the hall.
She once said I should get rid of them all
"They don't match the décor."
She never understood the humour
of Leonard Cohen,
nor appreciate the raw beauty
of a Bukowski poem;
claimed they were just ***** old men.
She couldn't fathom why
I am drawn to decrepit ruins
or could spend hours just walking
without a destination.
She never will comprehend my love
for the ghostly hue of twilight.

Allow me to step into your space.
Let us be close,
standing face to face.
So close...
Where our hands could meet,
and our hearts could greet...
The one chance
to finally indulge this long awaited dance.

Cradling one another...
In open arms.
Surendering...
Submitting...
To careless caresses,
bashful gazes and charms.

Our feet would mirror,
the gaits
of each other.
Our eyes ensnared
with senses all bared...
To the rise and fall
of the nectarous melody.
Playing for what seemed like eternity
in silence.

That eternity is now here.
Seizing this dance,
we gambol and frolic
without reservations and fear...
For the hours have frozen
and the seconds have ceased to tick.

This is our song.
Seemingly refined,
cultured and well versed.
This is our dance.
Enchanting,
perfect,
albeit unrehearsed.