Inland

Gulls circle above my living room window
in and out of low smoky clouds
lording over crows huddled in firs.
Snow is coming. In some places it's here already.
The birds know this as well as I. A pair

of gulls drops toward a roof across the street.

One gull lands but the other touches and must go.

I am not a gull but I think the visual cues failed him.

The distances are shorter here away from the water.

He tries again but concludes he is too big.

The crows express their wild delight. The gulls come

for shelter. There is food here. Peanuts, for example,

unsalted, unroasted, unshelled. The way crows like.

Redmond Watershed Preserve

It is hard to see the mountain for the forest. This time
of year it is easier. After an early snow blackberries
and wild roses lay flattened. The storm shook loose
all but a few maple and alder leaves and revealed
ravines that brooks trace between hillsides of cedar
and Douglas Fir, salal and ferns. It is clear to me now,
after years walking here, how this watershed tilts rain

and snow toward the sea. I listen for the sound one leaf
makes when it strikes another, or when another buckles
under a sparrow's weight. If I listen long enough

I hear the song the frost sings, the ravine sings, and 

where salmon end their run.