Peter Walks for Democracy

We got great snow last night. Sharing this poem from my book of poetry, Heartwood.
“Snow”

The sound, oh,
the sound of the snow.
It whispers
over frozen ponds,

the ice bowl
ponds where frogs dream in mud,
where my son
genuflected, paid dues

to nature,
to wild things, to quiet,
to shadows,
to hopes blowing like dust.

Snow shushes
the earth and announces
the wind while
I strike over white-tails’
and hunters’
tracks. They are seeking
their queries:
some with their tongues and some

with lessons
on patience their elders
taught. Today,
I’m just a passerby

at home while
I run by the Jack pines,
seeing my
life in this forest where

memory haunts
wind-flung diamond cascades.
The sound, yes,
the sound of the snow.