where the writers are

winter blog

In the famous poem "Stopping By a Woods on a Snowy Evening," Robert Frost's narrator is tempted by the deathly quiet of the wintry woods, but is reminded that life, with its "many pr

Winter squall

The black crow flies 


It doesn't snow in my life, anymore. Not like it used to.



I've experienced winter in a variety of climates.


Snow has interfered, dealt harshly with all involved,
Conquered everything. Two soldiers
Trespass the storm’s pure calm to just look,
One taller than the other, both androgynous

            My parents, children of immigrants, grew up during the Depression. 


If I weren't sixty-three years old my story might not be unusual. However, last Monday morning I romped in the fields at my ranch, photographing and exploring while big, fluffy handfuls of snow fell.

An hour before the sun scales the horizon I prepare to step off Ferrity, the 30 foot sailboat that I call home.  A gusty north-northwest wind pushes the thermometer’s 23 degrees into si