Winter; Dvořák

The final movement

of Dvořák’s Ninth Symphony

makes me feel

small as the mouse

that skittered across my path

in the last hour

of another shadowless day,

and that’s okay.

It was a good temperature and humidity

for casting tire tracks

onto the snowy road

with four parallel tread-ridges

perfectly preserved with cross-hatches

in a herringbone pattern

expressing the negative space

of the grooved rubber.

The mouse and I hesitated

ever-so-briefly — a near miss —

and then each went on his way

on mammalian feet

into night, making quieter music

without horns, just cello breaths.




About Ray Sharp

Poet, athlete, retired public health planner
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1 Response to Winter; Dvořák

  1. also a Dvorak fan, I found this magnificent

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