Sunday Morning in Covelo
Looking down into
Only mountain tops
Show above the
Rumbling truck motor
Cars, cell phones too
For brief moment
One may escape into
Other long gone
Covelo of a Wintry Day
The wintry twilight of year's end
Reveals more than it promises,
A shroud of clouds and ground low-mist
Leave valley and hills in eerie light.
The fields are hoary, the sky dull gray.
The trees bereft of leaves stand stark,
Their shadows are no less bare.
Wee birds sit clustered on barren limbs,
Their feathers fluffed and softly chattering.
The quiet is shattered by piercing screech
Of a hawk soaring high above the trees
And peering in vain for prey below.
Two hunters wearied by the chase
Trudge slowly by with their felled game.
Loud-cawing crows announce their presence
In circling flight below thick clouds.
The anxious mooing of distant cows
Heralds the end of another short day.
Farmhouse lights begin to flicker
And scattered chimneys to spew wood smoke.
Soon all will be blotted out by night
And cold silence will prevail.
Culture is smug in its self-adoration.
Nature is cruel in its utter indifference.
Wildflowers need no caring and feelings, no tutoring.
Rabbits never chase coyotes.
Things are not the important things in life.
Beauty is not in the eye but in the heart of the beholder.
A wasted day may be a day well spent.
Reason argues; animal spirits prevail.