December Wind

Each wind has a voice --

the groan of an empty sea,

the high, panicked breath

of a fleeing jackrabbit,

or a bull snake's dry whisper.

Last week there were several days of brutal winds across the West. Here it was a strafing, relentless wind that slammed the house like the winds on the high seas. Early in the morning, you could see a brown scrim of dust rising around the foot of Blanca. By afternoon, the mountain was completely veiled.

Although we refer to the wind in the singular, as if there were only one, in reality there are many winds, and each has its own character.

Morning Snow

Coyote pups call out

in the snowlight, cries ringing

flat against the walls

of a milky winter fog,

questions fading in the brush.

No visibility in this dense white fog; the mountains are hidden. We're getting a little power from a white thumbprint of a sun. The cries of the coyotes on a winter morning are haunting.