Saturday, January 17, 2015

a walk at the San Pedro River

I went for a walk in the winter.
The river was low and sweet.
Dead grasses bent bowing
to the floods of last summer
snap crisply neath my feet.
Sentinel cottonwoods
soaring silver-tipped filigree
across the blue crystal sky.
Their stone pillar trunks take no notice
of the child wandering by.


This poem was inspired by the San Pedro River Trail, the imaginary garden, and a warm sun in January.


We don't get a lot of what I grew up thinking "winter" was, here.
I grew up in western New York, surrounded by the deciduous forests of the Adirondacks' foothills. We got a lot of snow and cold, there.

Now I live in the Sonoran desert, up in the mountains. We don't get a lot of snow - though we'll occassionally see a flake or two, and they might even stick for an hour or so - and the warm sun makes January days feel like late spring or early fall. Or rather, what I imagine late spring and early fall to feel like. Winters here mean putting on your jacket once the sun goes down. It means the San Pedro river is nearly dry, though the boundaries of the summer floods are still obvious. Today, it had to be in the 60s (F) when I went for my walk. It was a beautiful day for a hike with friends.


  1. Sentinel cottonwoods
    soaring silver-tipped filigree
    across the blue crystal sky... gorgeous. This is a lovely, lilting poem.

  2. I love the filigree of leaf-less trees... and I remember the winter spent I spent in the Sonoran desert .. what difference.

  3. I enjoyed your words and your photos. Looks like heaven to me.