Probity
At dusk, after another day of unfulfilled promises,
the peaks still glimmer as night comes on,
and we await the jagged face of the moon
to illuminate the snowfields with day-bright light.
Across a mountain meadow, in a distant copse of conifers,
a tiny owl cries from a hiding place,
its small mutterings our compass, guiding our passage
from where things seldom unfold as planned.
A bull elk stands motionless within the shelter of the trees
like an honored judge, one noted for his probity,
and who ponders the sublime messages of owls
in the calm of the here and now.
Colorado Life Magazine, November/December, 2012
