Three minutes each morning I take 14
the length of which looks down snow-capped Mt. Hood -
these far away landmarks still draw me in
and promise sweet prospects which I've never seen.
In evenings my mirrors are filled with missed chances;
it's too soon, I tell myself, too early, too cold
for picnics: summer's for hikes, for vistas with friends,
late evenings, and wine, and long summer dances.
Too early then in a year for adventures.
The mountain must know; it sees all joint ventures.
