Come to the study window and see the log fence, the perimeter pines, the cabin lot outlined by frozen rails, limbs white above stripes of wet wood below. Walk round from pane to pane, watch the first silent snowflakes descend. Wonder at the plank bridge’s stretch of promise, a forest trail raveling on beyond the tiny creek soon to be closed by drifts of white for the frozen season to come.
See the evergreens bend to cradle the coveted snow? And raise your eyes to the mountains where you see the manna of water given by clouds swaddling the summit, granite kissed by the storm’s intent to refresh the weighted reams of ice and snow to be ready for a summer thaw, to fill the reservoirs that send the streams of water to make the desert bloom and quench our ever-present thirst.
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Margaret Koger was raised on an acreage near the Snake River and later moved to Boise, where she taught English and Composition in the Boise Schools and at Boise State University. She is a Lascaux Prize finalist and her works have appeared in numerous journals as well as in What These Hands Remember (Kelsay, 2022) and If Seasons Were Kingdoms (Fernwood Press 2024).
