March will be difficult, if it comes at all—
always the caveat now. Henbits crowd the raised
beds. He digs the roots with a hand trowel—
shirtless in mid-February. Just yesterday,
the wind howled. Just yesterday, they bundled
themselves in layers of wool.
The cold burrowing into the bone—an eagle
lies from a limb twice in three days—a nest
nearby perhaps. We had not seen eagles
before this past year. We walk
the path near the river. Water is being
released from the dam upstream.
Only a few hundred yards from the new
subdivision—newly paved roads, foundation
forms being nailed into place. Fourteen
new homes ready now. The wild being
squeezed into narrow ribbons
along river bottoms. New homes
waiting for children and toys.
Brady
From an Upstairs Window