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Owl Mountain Music, Inc.

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winter

Skier

April 2, 2014 By Steve Eulberg

He swings down like the flourish of a penSigning a signature in white on white.The silence of his skis reciprocatesThe silence of the world around him.Wind is his one competitorIn the cool winding and unwinding down.On incandescent feet he fallsUnfalli…

Filed Under: paul gerberding, schuss, ski, skiing, Steve Eulberg on Tour, winter

Skier

April 2, 2014 By Steve Eulberg

He swings down like the flourish of a penSigning a signature in white on white.The silence of his skis reciprocatesThe silence of the world around him.Wind is his one competitorIn the cool winding and unwinding down.On incandescent feet he fallsUnfalli…

Filed Under: paul gerberding, schuss, ski, skiing, Steve Eulberg on Tour, winter

Another Winter’s Day in Colorado

November 21, 2013 By Steve Eulberg

It’s another winter’s day in Colorado
Beneath a silver sky
Another winter’s day in Colorado
One blue-sky moment
turns to gentle snow.

Last week the ice was thick
and solid on the lake
Young and old strapped on their blades
to glide and skate.
Sun grew warm, white sky turned blue
green ice turned to clear
And the sign changed to say it wasn’t safe to skate
anymore around here.

Warming earth beneath the gaze
of bright winter sun
The tawny, tan of everything that once was green
only marks the moments between the growing seasons
And the birds that brightly sing,
an early foretaste of Spring.

Shirt-sleeves tempt the hurried
to re-pack the coats,
store the boots and hats and gloves away
Yet like a friendly prank, the breezes shift
and rain begins to mist
And slowly it thickens,
a downy mantle, snowy white.

Written in January 1998,
©Steven B. Eulberg, Administered by Owl Mountain Music, Inc.
recorded on Soaring OMM CD0102
Listen/Download here.

Filed Under: another winter's day, colorado, down-load, download, Poetry and Writing, soaring, winter Tagged With: steve eulberg

XXXI. (From Book III. Nature)

August 10, 2013 By Steve Eulberg

There’s a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything,
‘ T is the seal, despair,—
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, ‘t is like the distance
On the look of death.

–Emily Dickinson

Filed Under: dickinson, Poetry and Writing, shadows, winter

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