Niagara Escarpment, Ontario, Canada
It's inevitable like a cloud crossing the white fields of night.
stars too distant
an echo from
the winter copse
The Dundas Valley can sustain a population of two-hundred-fifty deer across its craggy outcroppings, woods and waterfalls. Five hundred move like ghosts beneath its snow-laden trees. As we sleep they feed and sleep. By day it's the same. Ever-vigilant these spirits, out of sight, just beneath our gaze, resting under fragrant canopies of pine, or in the depressions of hillocks.
safe we say
and mean it
be a shadow
Suburban sprawl from east to west endangers both silence and sound. How terrible is beauty become lethal. Omens abound: vehicles belching down the mountain toward dying steel mills; silent drinkers at the bottom of a frozen cataract.
in the valley
a fallen limb