Montana Christmas 2015

A poetic draft of thoughts from our splendid, snowy Montana Christmas. Thanks so much to Nana, Papa, and Aunt Karen for prepping and planning, baking and cleaning and hosting with grace and kindness. Much love to the Chicago Clav cousins who are "more friends than cousins" to quote my kids, and to Uncle John and Aunt Carol for their good humor, generosity and endless sledding and shoveling diversions. Love and miss you already!

Montana Christmas 2015

A black comma of coots punctuates the glacial lake.

They part the thin bay ice from miniature winter waves,

Which cause barely a ripple under the black birds,

So crowded to avoid eagle’s predator eye.

Eight mule does sleep, adrift on the fifth fairway

Below our house and above the sand trap

Where the buck stands watchful in the purple

Morning half-light, so dark so late.

Yesterday he slumbered under the girls’ window,

Lifting his four-pointed head when they parted the blinds, and

Shrieking, ran for the camera. At the flash he rose and trotted

Away towards his ladies, taking care not to seem startled.

We saw no wildlife while skiing Big Mountain,

Only a Candyland forest of heavily frosted trees, some crusted so thickly

That a ski pole’s poke on the underside of green boughs

Could dislodge only flecks, like powdered sugar.

The trees, troops of sentinels in winter armor,

Framed our view of the valley where low clouds and fog smudged

A faint pink grapefruit sun struggling valiantly to rise.

Jesus held his hands to the pale light as our breath

Steamed out through scarves and dickies.

And if our visit, like the coot’s comma, punctuated Christmas visits to Montana,

I believe it was more of an exclamation point,

A trumpeted finale to an era of sledding the golf course and sleeping in late,

Watching full moons shine over ten-foot Christmas trees,

As flocks of stockings are laid on the rocky hearth.