she dragged a clear bag,,
a patchwork of her clothes,
she held her hands behind,
her back, checking traffic,
to make sure all crossed safely,

ours eyes met, and I assumed
some things about her life choices,
we smiled at one another,
she recognized my thoughts,
and I looked away, all cars paused.

her blue coveralls, were extra
large and extra tall, she had the
cuffs tied and they
scuffed along the
asphalt like her
clothing in the
clear plastic bag,
the blue over-sized
jumpsuit was tied at
the waist, cropped hair,
gave her a girlish flair,
but she did not care,
twenty pairs of eyes
all stared, waiting for
to get out of the way

it was laundry day,
and she was going to
pay to wash the stuff
out of each piece she
owned, oh that smile,
said that I was right,
and she was okay
with it, as she was
off
for the night.

©ClemC072013

Walking ( ) birch trees,
knee deep ( ) crystalline flakes,
piled high on one another,
bright sunshine glaring,
white reflected light as
seen ( ) a birch bark slit
in the snow goggles,
being ( ) with winter is
not easy, when
winter is not ( ) with
stilling any liquid,
chilling any warmth,
filling the air with
silence ( ) and ( ) and
moisture
in the breath
moving slowly away
until caught on the
frosted breeze,
blowing ( ) the trees
covered in birch spots
and birch stripes.

Don't go barefoot in the snow,
if you have no where to go;
like a sauna, good for Flora and Fauna,

Don't run naked on the ice,
slipping is not to nice,
abrasions sting, make you sing, in the hot tub.

Don't live your life carefree,
or fuel your God given creativity,
dig your hole then be brave,
climb in to make sure if it fits
                        it is your grave,

after all

if you do nothing, nothing at all.

We would get to go across the snow,
We would get to run fast across the grass, laughing
We would get to wade to our knees in water
                                       and warm breezes,
We would get to kick high the drying leaves in piles,

That is when I was a child.

They would march in droves across snow and ice,
They would run fast into mayhem, across foreign grass fields, battle cries
They would push the long boats in water up to their knees
                                     bracing cold winds of journeys to discover,
They would get a kick out of conquest and ****** battles fought, for Valhalla
                                                    gates to open as smoke curled high and flames
                                                    fanned funeral pyres piled higher.


That was my ancestral family.

Not much has changed...?

Where is the warmth,
not of another human,
not of the parka,
fake fur wired rim,
to take
shape and protect from
the relentless wind,
that cuts and maims,
with minute particles of
ice that travel so far,
to cut and melt on your
face, sting your eyes,
bloodied and cold,
"too bad you shaved?"
you think
out loud
talking to
no one
but the cold,
the cold
that can't
hear you    for    the    wind,
that howls at your
trespassing,
still you walk,
crunching and
leaning into and
on all things the
cold has touched.

All is white and pure,
ready for a sacrifice.

If the cold could
bury you, and
embrace you,
it would if
you let it, go get it,
take it to the cold,
be a bold fool, lean
into the wind and howl
back.

But remember,
they are relentless,
they travel in pairs
cold and wind,
wind and cold,
and you are all alone,
and that is how they
will find you in the Spring
after the cold is gone for
a season, but the wind
will move over and
watch over you, howling.

don't believe me?
Just ask the cold.

A fjord is a mountain,
                 a fountain,
of splendid beauty,
that bubbles up ,
with laughter,
from the wind
moving trees, shrubs
land laps at the waters
edge which is
so generous with
LIFE  
teeming, with sea
LIFE
in water, that is
pure and clear,
and deep,
drag me there,
         to witness
         where
the water is so
cold and light
is so slight, sea
creatures move,
like,
still LIFE.

A baby,
a toddler,
a child,
learns first by;
undoing pieces,
tearing down,
taking apart,
all by heart,
then a child
assembles dreams,
then a toddler,
holds hands together,
then a baby,
makes a family,
with so much love,
it is my undoing.


©ClemC 062013