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Snow Clouds
1–2 minutesThe clouds are threaded with mountain-pink, andthe kind of muted purple that reflects from pondwater as it lies still at the moment of dusk, and the ravens blink the snow away, calling in their Cascade dialects, throaty songsthat catchin the fir needles like sunlight, and the snow falls in patches between the canopy and atop
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Rain on the Ocean
1–2 minutesThe ocean is waiting there, pock marked in the way that dew hangs from jeweled firs, how itmelts the soft snow beneath it, and farther out, the white painted light is made ghostly where the horizon meets it and the white foam fray and the clouds brushed and bruised and half the ocean drawn through
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Moonlight on the Windowsill
1–2 minutesI see the moonlight blank against the windowsill sunk into the grains of wood, into the etchings of pencils and pressed fingernails carved like insect-scarred walking sticks we used to find in the forest, and mossy flakes from screen windows open too long in the summer, and they are golden, far too golden, and I
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Fallow
1–2 minutesAll of this—these windowless warehouses, these factories made, seemingly, of styrofoam; these used-car prairies that glare pink in the sunset. All of this used to be fields. Just ten years ago there was a cabin, there, made of rain-darkened wood, roof caving in, half rotten, clung over with moss, and there was a wagon wheel
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