Another Saturday in CinCity

The Marsh in Winter
by Timothy Walsh

If you stand and listen,
you will hear the voice.
Reeds sharp as rapiers rasp the wind.
Frost creaks in the trees.
Sunlight, ice-bright, falls from the sky.
Scattered cedars and junipers loom like shadows.
Sheathed in ice, a willow droops heavily
Across the path.
Driven snow packs the creviced bark of cottonwoods.
Once-hidden bird nests now plainly marked
by a white cap of snow...

Out on the marsh, blue water shows through shifting ice.
Tall brown reeds, slim as dancers, bend in the breeze.
A hundred thousand cattails, each one lit
by the low-angled light of a westering sun,
each brown seed head blazing
like the head of a saint.


  1. I'll take the scene these words describe instead of the rain we have here today. At times the rain stops and steam rises from the snow.

  2. It's grey, windy and 68 degrees here. Winter is probably hiding around the corner ready to hit us with a baseball bat of cold air and ice. Unfortunately couldn't find a poem resembling that:>)


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