RANDOM WIND

The steel edge
of a tuned ski
carves a line
across the snow.
The sheer edge
of an arctic wind
carves a mushroom cloud.
The forces of creation move
in whimsical delight.
The wind,
a knife edge, whittles
graceful cornices of white.
A northwest gust
etches patterns
into frozen crust
that breaks beneath my happy skis
and tosses powder dus

A January random wind,
a deep and healing breath,
a growing trust,
a sheer delight
for soaring raven, blessed.
Creation writes her music
against snow
and open sky…
I fling my heart out
on the wind,
my voice
a rainbow kite.