the morning dreams of ice

The cold spell is ending, and the ice will soon begin to vanish.  On my walk this morning I snapped/beeped a few pictures of the Esopus River and Woodland Valley Creek, both right behind my house.  Something about ice speaks to me and calls for me to embrace it.  Winter was a big part of my shadow side in leaving California (can I survive the winter? can I thrive in it?), and it has been therapeutic for me to just go out and enter it.  Here are a few pictures, taken before my fingers went stiff.  They are an offering to winter which we will miss dearly if it truly does begin to disappear...

 

 

 

  

And to cap all this off, here is a poem by Billy Collins, one of my new favorite poets.  He was poet laureate for a time (the big Poet Laureate, I believe) and he writes accessible, beautiful stuff.  This is from his most recent collection called Aimless Love.

Fool Me Good

I am under the covers

waiting for the heat to come up

with a gurgle and hiss

and the banging of the water hammer

that will frighten the cold out of the room.

And I am listening to a blues singer

named Precious Bryant

singing a song called "Fool Me Good."

If you don't love me, baby, she sings,

would you please try to fool me good?

I am also stroking the dog's head

and writing down these words,

which means that I am calmly flying

in the face of the Buddhist advice

to do only one thing at a time.

Just pour the tea,

just look into the eye of the flower,

just sing the song --

one thing at a time

and you will achieve serenity,

which is what I wold love to do

as the fan-blades of the morning begin to turn.

If you don't love me, baby,

she sings,

as a day-moon fades in the window,

and the hands circle the clock,

would you please try to fool me good?

Yes, Precious, I reply,

I will fool you as good as I can,

but first I have to learn to listen to you

with my whole heart,

and not until you have finished 

will I put on my slippers,

squeeze out some toothpaste,

and make a big foamy face in the mirror,

freshly dedicated to doing one thing at a time --

one note at a time for you, darling,

one tooth at at time for me.