First it was fall, then it wasn't. Happy New Year



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A Regretful Death

Published in Cirque, Vol. 7, No. 2; 2016 www.cirquejournal.com by  Jerry Dale McDonnell Above the routine of the rasping, cutting sound of the crosscut saw the noise and demeanor of the late-September afternoon woods changed. We didn't immediately quantify the change. We just knew it changed. The odor of standing pine and fir, of sawdust and fresh cut wood, the light dampness of the air, the gurgling water in the creek dancing around rocks all remained, but something had changed. Even the camp robbing Gray jays in the trees were on alert.   Living in the woods, paying attention is just the way of things. Sounds, smells, clouds, the wind, changes in plants and trees, migration and habits of animals are like news on the radio. In the timber-pole corral our lead and riding horses were agitated, which is a blip on the radar. Joker, the smallest, but oldest and wisest horse of the herd snorted, laid its ears back briefly then spun and jumped to the other side of ...
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Alaska images of Fall.

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Winter is coming to South Central Alaska. The tundra and trumpeter swans have come off their summer nesting grounds and are resting in Anchorage in preparation for their migration south. In September on the Denali Highway snow--initiation dust to the optimist, termination dust to the pessimist--coats the peaks while the caribou migrate across Alaska.
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Chilkoot Spring

Published: http://deadsnakes.blogspot.com/2016/01/jerry-dale-mcdonnell-three-poems.htm                                      by                       Jerry Dale McDonnell After a whiff of spring Snow slipped in. Don't tell anyone the treasure Is still there, lying bare. Yesterday it smelled Like woods’ walking. The martin resting on a log, giving Me a wink, bear awake, ridge riding. Eagle not taking wing as I glide by. The seals have returned to the bays. From the tree top Porcupine faking sad. On this spring day of sundry sun my Skis also seek a fool like me and bide me go. The treasure remains. Someone left the Vault door open for the pauper price of sweat. I will glide and stroke, Avoiding the overflow, Up the Taiya River along the famous Chilkoot Trail where thousands of ...
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