first snow shelters fallen leaves
cushions them from the winds yet to come
how out of place they’ll appear
against the freshness of the distant spring

first snow shelters fallen leaves
cushions them from the winds yet to come
how out of place they’ll appear
against the freshness of the distant spring
emptied feeder whip-wrapped around its branch
another lies broken, mangled, on the ground
Old Man winter doesn’t bother to knock
he forcibly removes the door, muscles his way in
spewing water like a pod of whales,
grounds crews blow out irrigation lines
up and down the fairway —
our end-of-autumn Old Faithful
recumbent siege of ponderosa pine
snow, virgin white, late November
winter’s foundational full-throated assault
three-toed toad
wove a wave —
aligned with the line
he towed, just in time —
a misfit, retrofit
isn’t this one silly bit?
layer of not-quite-frost
blankets the fairway
an expanse of white
atop so much green
hand-written poems,
shared with friends —
an exercise in mobility
In January 2023, I logged in to a series of Zoom presentations via the Grant Wood Online Forum. Participants were encouraged to submit poems, limericks, art work and essays for the print publication of the Grant Wood Country Chronicle.
In response, I wrote an essay titled The Fun, Feel-Good Legacy of Grant Wood. I sent it off to the forum facilitator. Then promptly forgot all about it.
My mailbox was packed tight with the usual junk mail yesterday – and a large, manilla envelope which contained my copy of the Chronicle. An ekphrastic poem I’d written, and that essay had been published alongside a wealth of information about Grant Wood and other artists and persons of note in his circle at the time.
I’m happy to share the link with you here to access the PDF document. Certainly, I hope you’ll enjoy my essay as well as the works of others who contributed to this collaboration.
To locate the essay, run a document search of my full name, Julie Allyn Johnson or enter the essay title, shown above.
And, of course, I thank you very much!
warm waters, pliable sand
the squish between my toes
Mayan morning sunrise
~ for my husband’s mother
peacemaker for a body
ragged and worn
battling the mounting years,
piling on fear after fear
Chit Chat