I was drawn to my late evening walk, in deep and fresh powdery snow, 
By an owl, somewhere in the pines. "Who, Who, Who cooks for you?"
Snappy cold, that somehow did not chill me. 
I could feel the space where my body warmth exited my collar,
and met the sharp cold with exhilaration.
I came out first to view the stars, it turned too cloudy for my telescope.
My wife would be home late, and I thought a look at Mars might interest her.

So I followed Mr. Owl, for some two hours. When I would lose him,
Which he made sure I would, I would stop and wait.
My dog Shana was bored, but glad to be out, trying to know,
What trail I sought, what food was nearby, what smell interested me.
And the owl would say "Here, here, here I am", in Owl-ese of course,
And we would walk again.

Shana lay by my feet, as though it were a lazy July evening, sitting for the
sunset.
I am entranced in a real world, but alien to my normal senses, and do not wish 
to forget,
The import of knowing the whole of the day, and night, in each season.
Why specialize in day time, God made the night, and cold, as well.
So I gradually became immersed in the night, and felt no cold, at least no
discomfort.
The clouds overhead somehow illuminated, somehow the snow glimmers,
As though each of the billions of snowflakes were angels,
And I do not think there are yet enough angels in the world.

 
My Walk in The Woods
 

I walked In the woods 
A tree fell, I heard it.
Was it an answer to my question?
Does the spirit of the world 
Live inside of me?
The winds blow to say
Things ear cannot hear,
yet ring true in our spirit.
I quietly walk
bound with spirit.
Stillness waits
For us to find
What surrounds,
Infuses, and needs us
To listen, and know.
I am a modern man
And work apart 
from the natural world
And wonder
How it must have been
Before distraction
Added layer upon layer
Of distraction.
Yet the spirit is there,
I know, I heard it.