Herewith, the latest selection from dusted-off published poetry and short fiction, circa 1970s vintage and beyond....
A Cross-Patterned Trail
Even the white sun
promising much in the clear sky
delivers no warmth
this devilish cold day. My
face is taut in the
knife-edge wind.
But down on the frozen creekbed
loping from bank to bank
shifting over fallen trunks
there's shelter. A
downy woodpecker
thrums the bole of a tree
too busy to care about me.
The hills rise snow-round
with curves as sensuous
as those in an Eastern harem.
Stark winter trees are stuck
like candles in the snow
as on a birthday cake.
The spruce and pine comb
cheerful green needles
and a nearby stand of oak
rustles red autumn leaves
in the creeping wind.
I leave behind me a
cross-patterned trail to
puzzle the animals
hunting the winter dark.
c. 1980 Rita Rosenfeld
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