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Issue #107, March 3-5, 2005: A visit to the Polar Star Hut in the Colorado back country. Additional haiku by Tom Hopson, Mary Putman and David Teitler.




back into silence
leaving the city behind
the woods call my name




bear claw on aspen
wet gray scat on white snow
animals precede us




hydrologist tom
plays on water following
his thesis defense




pulling himself out
of yesterday's thesis talk
tom admires the snow




walt whitman haiku
on astronomers door
expressing the stars




the seasons changing
my body also changing
we move together




minute to minute
and season to season
my body follows




quacking like a duck
in aspen tree corridor
rubber skins flapping




breaking the groove
socializing on ski trail
photos, frequent stops




sinking deeper
into nature and powder
polar star canyon




thought she heard music
in the full sunshine
under adam's rib




three layers of clouds
wispy cirrus clouds
high convective clouds
then higher cirrus




thin water layer
what keeps us gliding on:
the science of wax




haiku toodle-oo
romping in the snow -oh ho!
what a day, a day




gaggle of aspen
lovely thing carved in the bark
wind blows over peaks




discussing fine art
on aspen tree bark
beauty lies within




quackity quack
creakity creak
the rhythm of the trail




hey- sing me a song
to boost me up the mountain
row, row, row your boat




tall stark naked trees
watching over as we ski
tom, jon and mary




a pant a wheeze
a pant a wheeze
the dogs they are a barking
are we there? no, not there




bodily angst
mixed with cold, stark beauty
aesthetics knife edge




carrying garlic
on outstretched knife
dave cooks our dinner




lukewarm hot chocolate
tastes good at 11,000 feet
as does just sitting




ice cream made of snow
hut aficionados
dispense leftovers




generous hut mates
give us leftover salad
with all the toppings




icicle creeping
from rooftop to snowbank
wood smoke curls above




roof ice collapses
in small avalanche on stairs
in the dark of night




steadily uphill
this time without a large pack
much to my liking




two guys
named mark and dan
leave ego in snow




fun to talk about
the past
more fun to live in
the present




gaining altitude
skinning up protected slope
away from gentle
relentless warmth of the sun




eleven thousand
feet above the ocean, yet
we play on water




skiing sunset slope
warm colors, afternoon smog
left by contrails




the main events
in the sky above are distant
immediate trees
have nothing to say




good morning:
the hut clatter,
the silverware clinking,
the fire burning,
the hot water boiling,
the blue sky and sunshine awaiting




this frozen silence
the magic play of sunlight
on new-fallen snow




the track to the peak
laid before as a promise
for nature's delight




at every movement
snow crystals dancing in light
universe unfolds




like the nighttime sky
snow crystals twinkle back at me
in broad daylight




so many contrails
tells me the world is shrinking
jets fly above




only two to three miles away
from the contrails
yet as tom says
our reality is completely different




coyote track
ventures out to the cornice
while we just look




meanwhile jet setters
pass overhead
oblivious to the beauty




defying grandma
dave cuts bagel the wrong way
on new york mountain




contrail cloud cover
accounts for global cooling
from this vantage point




unconcerned
about my missing gloves
until i need them




now that we have died
and gone to heaven
we can ski more powder




seven hours later
we skin up the same steep ridge
to ski it again




hidden treasure yurt
like a jewel at sunset
white canvas glowing




the day so young
my wide-brimmed hat cannot mask
the morning sunshine




trying to sum up
with differential equations
our entire trip




bent, but not broken
shouldering a heavy load
sapling waits for spring




not strong, but supple
the trunk of a young sapling
gives no resistance




standing still
yet gliding
the magic of skis




pictionary
not loved by the losing man
who feels he can't draw




not scared of saddam
not scared of donald rumsfeld
here on the mountain


solo/group kukai
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen