Rain turns to hail turns to snow
Winter’s white line blending with brown
A slow sad march down the mountain
Covering the last of summers stories
Faded like a sepia portrait of an old cowboy
Yesterday today tomorrow
You may say bad things comes in threes
I’d rather think of body, mind and soul
Nothing is not connected
Though too often we find ourselves alone
Seemingly old words shared with a new friend:
“As I write, I am down at the Little Cabin, our one room cabin built of old round logs, set out on the bluff above the river. Big Haus, our main home for now, is being used for the last big event of the season, so we’ve chosen to hide away down here, and I love it. A small satellite dish and solar panel which charges a battery which in turn is inverted to household power allows me the use of the computer and internet, though we have the old wood cook stove giving us heat, and candles and kerosene lamps at night by which we work. There is an outhouse nearby and when the rain and hail (and soon to be snow) are not as loud on the metal roof as they are right now, I can hear the song of the Rio Grande just below us.”
Get away, far away…
I wonder at times if I am running away? Or running to something just out of reach?
A new view, looking out of these old weathered eight-pane windows. Snow beneath the beetle killed spruce trees. Rolling waves of light and dark, subtle shades and repeated variation, hillside after hillside fading from green to grey. It’s only a matter of time.
Are we better off not looking?
Yet even blindfolded, would you feel the tears of the trees dropping their needles upon you as we stumble through the last of the shade?
Gin Getz 
Beautifully worded poem about the changing of the seasons. I appreciate how you share your quizzical looks at life. No matter how old we are, we are still trying to figure things out and learn how to live realistically, but at the same time, with our hearts.
OK, Curly Top, I am the first to admit I’m a cruddy blogger because I take the time to be here now, then fade off into the woodwork and away from the computer fast as you can say Peachy Keen. Taking the time to respond and look at the sites of folks I’m learning to know and love, I’m terrible at. Especially if the sun is shining. But it’s dark now, the internet is still working, and I’m too tired to do much more… so I started to look at your blog, and I’m hooked… MUCH more later and in the future. Glad to have you as a friend.
This is exquisite but difficult. I recycle nearly everything and think it is a waste of time. One tiny indentation, unseen. Where did the beetle come from? Who brought it? I have a lovely urban postage stamped size yard. We have probably cut down in 29 years 8-10 dear trees. One cannot get a stump (I cannot remember the word) breaker upper into the yard – no access. This makes planting new trees impossible. I have one tree left and I am waiting for the Emerald green Ash Borer – and he IS coming.
I am unfamiliar with the Ash Borer and will have to look into that further. Wondering if there is a relationship between that and the beetles devastating the mountain west, from British Columbia down to New Mexico. Reminding us that we have the ability to create havoc on earth, but have yet to learn how to heal her.
Just read a bit about the Emerald ash borer… oh my… terrible…