as if on the same server.....We watched out the window
soft fur........................... while the broken chair where Winsock liked to sit in the summer
down the path..........filled with snow.
played the song twice............
white capped mountains........Snow fell on the frosted grass in the meadow,
shutdown......................on the tarp that covered the woodpile,
sluggishly on the keyboard........and on the dirt road where thin ice had formed
walking down to the water...on water-filled potholes.
that afternoon...........
unexpected woodland events .....Soon it lay several inches deep on the picnic table
spring water in winter.....where only a few mornings ago,
the smell of hops and honey....I had warmed my hands with a tin cup of coffee.
The daily in and out flow of a billion bytes...... through sliding glass doors....... the still frozen ground near the river bank......... nothing like I expected......... the smell of green grass.... warm stones by the river.... a red front door................ under the eves of the porch........................ a black woodstove............................ the smell of the leather couch.................... screen has been going black....................... making love...................... the faded Indian blanket on the daybed........

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