Susan Carol Hauser

Peeping the Land, Redux

In Peeping the Land on March 7, 2015 at 10:04 pm

The Last Bay Poem
December 22, 2014

I wish it were twenty-five below this morning,
the air on fire with the cold. On a day like that
when I was younger, I would put on my skis,
glide away from the house, follow the squared
sides of the field, south, west, north, east to home.
My breath condensed and froze on my eyebrows,
my cheeks crackled as though electric. Less than
halfway out I would have loosened the scarf
around my neck, the work of my heart warming
even my toes, sweat freezing on my brow.

Outside this morning it is warm for December,
high twenties. A pileated woodpecker works
at the suet, and chickadees scavenge the hulls
of sunflower seeds on the platform feeder, looking
for one more kernel of fuel. They do not heed
the frozen bay beyond, a white disc, a wafer of ice
and snow, nor do they apprehend in any way
the packed boxes behind me, thirty-five years of life
on this land divided into cartons, sealed with tape:
the past containered, the present unfolding,
the future gliding away even as I approach.

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  1. Lovely, Susan! I so enJOYCE your writing, and look forward to more of your blog stories. Big changes at our age require courage and a spirit for adventure. You are an inspiration to me! Thank you for sharing your adventures.

    • Thank you, Joyce‹your thoughts are encouraging to me. Most of the time I do feel courageous about this move…and sometimes I am daunted by it. I¹m on the train now, though…just waiting to see where it takes me!

      Love, Susan

      On 3/7/15 5:02 PM, “Susan Carol Hauser's Blog” wrote:

      >

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