Looking Out The Sliding Glass Door

It's another cold Easter-egg-blue-sky morning here on Hall Lake.  I'm sitting here looking out the door, watching Patty and the best dog in the world walking down by the lake.  Red maples have begun to flower.  I can see swaths of crimson growing across the lake.  The black cherry trees at the end of the yard have flowers and leaf buds too.  Spring in north Florida is not far away.  My mind has begun thinking about the trip back to Utah.  It puts a queasy feeling in my gut.  Humans hardly ever want to leave their homes.  Even Haitians offered a new tent and food in camps away from their destroyed homes opt for a dirty sheet in a Port-au-Prince park.  It's home.  I know how they feel.


There's frost on the ground
Sandhill cranes in a blue sky
Leaving will be hard

There's sand in my shoes
Tannin stained water's my blood
Heart twined by grape vine

Cypress in a flood
Live oak roots deep in the sand
Wrens in a strong wind