By Tink Davis

January comes every year
So why am I never ready for it?
The same thing for June.
In January, I’m slipping on the ice.
In June, I’m floating in the air.
Both times leave me with no balance.
It must be the Js
January’s too dark
And June is too light.
I struggle to keep steady
But it is hard work.
Others plan trips for mid-winter
Or lavish themselves with luxurious lotions.
Preparing for storms is not something
I do well
Why haven’t I bought extra flashlights
And stored nuts for winter?
Am I the fiddling grasshopper
Dependent on the toiling ants
When the cold sets in?
And yet there is the peace of the dark
The call to be quiet.
I love this part.
But how to hold that in one hand
And the relentless summons to activity
In the other?
Like the young sapling, wet with
A fringe of new snow on its branches
I hold my arms out to the sky
And ask for help to stay upright.

This Forest is Too Young

By Elizabeth Caffrey

This forest is too young
To be called a forest.
Maple, birch and beech,
The last crop of the old farm,
Are just learning to live
They deliver each other
Glancing blows,
This forest is too young
To be called a forest.

Light and Dark

By Tink Davis

Like a child learning to skate
I skitter across the ice
Of winter darkness
Almost falling, over and over..
The ice is black beneath me
And it pulls me to give up and sit down
But red-mittened skaters
Shoot by me
And strong young men playing hockey
The deep carving of their blades
Firm on the ice .
I am lightly scratching the surface,
Hardly a trace
But enough to keep my balance..
I can’t make decisive marks yet.
Bright scarves, pink cheeks,
A game of keep-away,
The children dart all around me
Activity on the black stillness
Light on Dark.
I work hard to keep my footing
Between the two worlds.

... From an old Master

Man was made for Joy & Woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the World we safely go.
Joy and Woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the Soul divine;
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
Every night & every morn
some to misery are born
Every morn & every night
Some are Born to sweet delight.
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to Endless Night
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in Night,
But does a human face display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

William Blake
Auguries of Innocence

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