Mowed the lawn in moccasins
to make a point about January
being different in the great
and generous Northwest.
My Daddy, frostbit, from chopping ice
off the walk a few decades
and states east of here, would marvel
at anything so green close to his birthday.
Late in life, we might just miss
the things our children notice,
like an upstart of daffodils closer
to the curb than the wild.
Over at the cemetery
the sun shines equal
when it does come out.
Night rain on the graveyard don’t
bother residents, however temporary
The shut down engine and smell of simple labor
whispers what God thought
when He said, “Well that’s enough mountains
One long string of soft steps,
makes everything we climb, puny.