squall

as the door clicked shut
my headlamp broadcast a stark beam
slicing a path through the winter dark

as I took my first steps
my watch reached skyward for a signal
tracking my pace across the icy walks

as I started to run
my face caught the sudden rush of wind
sensing the winter air stirring ahead in the park

as I felt the sleet
my skin braced to the bluster crescendo
wincing at sudden needles of assaulting ice

as I turned back
my heart sunk at the lost moment
pondering my fortunes timing for not departing earlier

– bardo

I set out at about 730pm last night for a short evening run. From the time I shut the door to the time I warmed up my watch and started running, a rare winter storm, a blustery squall, had descended upon us and the still evening streets turned to sleet-pelted wind tunnels ... all without warning. It was all I could do to retreat back to the house as I was hammered with sleet.

I have reserved some space on this blog each week to write some fiction, poetry, or prose. Writing a daily blog could easily get repetitive and turn into driveling updates. Instead, Wordy Wednesdays give me a bit of a creative nudge when inspiration strikes.

boundary

I am not a poet, but a friend has inspired me to read more of it and think more critically about its place in the constellation of my creative pursuits. Occasionally, I’d like to post a poem here when inspiration strikes.

boundary
demarcated by strict panels of hewn lumber
set against remnant forest
clinging to a river edge
and
traced between the trees
a path
serpentine cut through snow-covered scrub
bracing a tizzy of birdsong
against a distant whir of highway traffic
muffled by branches reaching for sunlight
bare in the january chill
and
traced between the trees
footprints
packing a temporary record into the snow
recalling a moment or a hundred like it
inspired to ignore one more
boundary

-bardo