Ice melts quickly here, pavements are soon cleared of snow, as the sun glistens. Winter is mild as usual, here in the Southwest, on the edge of the Colorado Plateau, 7,000 feet above sea level. Here, as icicles bask in the sunlight, melting as drops return to their source, completing the cycle of precipitation.
Shivering overnight in the greenway, between east and west lanes of the freeway. Massachusetts winter, failed hitch-hiking tour, never arrived at the beach. Returned to the college, warmed up at the fireplace in the common lodge. Word gets around, commiseration abounds, cure for ice-olation.
Within my heart,I can only find bitter waters;yet, from you L-rd,only sweet waters flowinto my heart. Oh, when will Ifind an opportune placealong the river’s path,to open up a channelto the arid land? So, that the sweet watersmay also flow out to others,as well as quench the thirstof my parched soul.