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patterns of ink

How fruitless to be ever thinking yet never embrace a thought... to have the power to believe and believe it's all for naught. I, too, have reckoned time and truth (content to wonder if not think) in metaphors and meaning and endless patterns of ink. Perhaps a few may find their way to the world where others live, sharing not just thoughts I've gathered but those I wish to give. Tom Kapanka

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Thanksgiving Snow 2013

I woke this morn to unexpected white
that somehow sifted through the night
without a sound. No wind had blown
as Winter’s work was softly sown
to flock each roof, downy and thick
and quiet as the quilt and feather tick
in some forgotten cottage in a wood.
And now throughout the neighborhood,
the scraping sounds of shovels call…
I would have rather watched it fall.

©11-28-13 Tom Kapanka

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