December 31st

The red squirrel is terrorizing

the gray squirrel at the feeder;

neither knows that tomorrow . . .

this will all change.



The brown pond is refreezing

over dozing fish and frogs;

none know that tomorrow . . .

this will all change.



The Aztecs cycled through

two calendars, 360 and 365

days, which aligned to restart

once every 52 years,

and today some 40 different calendars

diverge on the date of the new year:

youths lollygagging into the year 26;

elders dragging past the year 7000.



Unlike us, the flora and fauna

non-mathematical,

will be nonplussed when tomorrow. . .

nothing changes.

Christmas: Three Fours for Twelve

Part I

-1-

One anonymous

treetop complainer hollers at

the bubbling blackbirds in pines.

-2-

Self-named chickadees

invisible in evergreens

sing of a warm Christmas day.

-3-

Spring in Winter

fills rills with sparkling

whispering water.

-4-

Still unbent by snow

green ferns sprawl uphill

on rust red pine needles.

Part II

-5-

It is here, today,

a day of peace:

blow winds, this,

to places far way.

-6-

WWI Christmas truce:

enemies dropped their arms

and used arms to embrace:

‘This is good;

let’s just go to our homes.’

-7-

It is as hard to make peace

as to clutch

a fist full of water.

-8-

Today’s news, religion without god;

this summer, god without religion;

and for some, the two bind together:

all seeking peace.

Part III

-9-

Tawny, fluffy hens

peck their breakfast,

expect no less nor more

of this day.

-10-

A house barks

when I approach and pass;

no good news for the dog inside.

-11-

Does the spring warmth

of this Christmas day

blow green dreams

into the hollows of bears?

-12-

The main road bustles with cars

speeding to Christmas;

I turn back into the wild wind.

* 

The

warm wind

has blown the sky to blue

and memories to mind:

fifteen I am sticky, walking a hot camp path,

thirty strolling on Nantucket with friends,

twenty off-season with friends on a gull-cold beach

ten a child singing the endless 12 Days of Christmas

to a patient audience:

at sixty this is my twelve

for patient readers.