Snow clouds roll in
from Northern Nevada.

We tuck ourselves up close--

No moon at all
and the sky’s too low.

Next valley down from here
no sky at all.

A difficult angle to look at
the world from.

Could be ten, could
even hit twenty
below.

Just that quilt from your mother’s old
drapes and Jennifer’s prom dress
might not be enough.

Bring in the dog.  Hell, even
the cats.  This is the night
they could freeze

like old Bill
Evans’ chickens
back in ‘85.

Tonight we need some old songs
and some whiskey
and some wood.

Tomorrow we’ll be back out there
pitching hay.

 

Hear it:

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