I am taking this week off, but I wish you all pleasant holidays. Be warm and safe. More poetry next week.

Snow will bury native grasses that feed a raft of geese crowding the lake, more geese, many more, than the land can carry. So too a pandemic thins us.

Desperate for fame, old heroes rode into battle with mace, saber, spear, whatever arms they had. In some myths magic mattered, but in our current deadly tale, we have no sword pulled from a stone. Our lungs inhale dreadful air and life wares a tissue-thin carapace. But better than a lone rider on a white…