I listen, and the mountain lakes.hear snowflakes come on those winter wings
only the owls are awake to see,their radar gaze and furred ears alert. In that stillness a meaning shakes;
And I have thought (maybe alone on my bike, quaintly on a cold evening pedaling home), Think!--the splendor of our life, its current unknown as those mountains, the scene no one sees.
O citizens of our great amnesty:we might have died. We live. Marvels coast by, great veers and swoops of air so bright the lamps waver in tears,and I hear in the chain a chuckle I like to hear........... William Stafford