A Daffodil Winter

Cracks are forming in the course mulch where sprigs of something are trying desperately to come up. The bulbs of spring are curious or maybe too eager to resist. It is a warm winter, after all. And the amount of rain is comparable to what used to be April’s responsibility—now May.  The now wet and…

Why the Cottonwood Gave Up Everything for Spring.

  I would like to believe myself a descendant to some wise old bird aware of the terrors of being a poet in his time—or maybe just always consumed by some obsessive work. In his time he would pass up the expediency of machines or the draw of making a family to seek joys in…