Streams of Time

It has been slate gray the whole day from the time I woke up until late afternoon,
I find it difficult to distinguish the time without some signals from the sun,
Events used to proceed in strict order, one after the other, when I was young,
Now all my days intermingle like many streams merging in a forest lagoon.

Morning Contemplation

The morning mist at the beginning of winter possesses a life of its own,
As the shapes drift and twist through the branches of the broad maple tree in the garden,
Sometimes they hide and sometimes they reveal that the leaves have suddenly turned to gold --
I sit on the couch wrapped in a blanket in the house which still holds the evening cold.

Rainscape Moment

The rain's been falling for many days and nights in the season of early winter,
It's been falling off and on, not constantly, so the streets have not become rivers,
The tips of the needles of the deodar tree hold a drop of rain that shimmers,
A gust of wind and all the drops fall and suddenly the whole world appears dimmer.

Dialectic

I don't mind having discussions
With those with whom I disagree,
If I'm right or wrong is nothing
Measured against eternity.

Checking In

Winter mist dissolves

Late in the morning

I call an old friend,

"So, how's it going?"

Skyscape

You would think the clouds
Are the unmoving mountains --
December stillness

Old Photo

Found in a drawer --
I thought I had forgotten
The winter romance.

How We Spend Our Days

Dawn on the First of December under a clear and cold sky

Shoppers drive here and there for a gift that will be a surprise;

Under a four-lane bridge that spans the meandering river,

A discarded man, wrapped in a discarded blanket, shivers.