Downtown, the Trailing End of Midwinter

I go out late at night, to the balcony, chores done,

               To look across the valley, west toward the sea,

Quiet, near midnight, a cold breeze

               Blows down from the mountains, the Cascades due

For a couple of feet of snow,

Not here though,

Warm air from the coast collides with cold slapping wind,

               Fills the vast bowl of the valley with this sloppy porridge of weather,

This trailing end of midwinter, mid-February,

Mists rising to obscure the hills, lights,

               Drips from the boughs of fir and cedar, I gather my collar close,

Retreat inside.

I went downtown this afternoon, an uncommon trip.

I was returning to my car, flush, victorious, having found

New walking shoes at a bargain, 

There were four Hispanic teens  on the stoop of a back entrance to a mall,

               They  stared my way as I passed,

I thought they might be looking across the street,

               I turned to see what I thought was an old man

With a remarkably contorted back

               Making slow progress across the front of the bus station.

Looking more closely he was not old,

               But had that look of a bedrock crazy,

Wandering the streets, sleeping in alleys,

There was a woman across the lot, belongings piled in a cart nearby,

               Under an overhang behind a granite-and-brick office building,

There was a corrugated take-out-food box,

               A fountain drink cup that might have been Pepsi,

She was covering herself with a shabby red quilt topping off what looked like

               Many blankets piled, and she lay on the red bricks

To sleep, perchance to dream,

Might there be comfort in that dream, maybe the new American dream,

               A chance to immerse in another reality; one with promise, filled with light

And warmth, sweet dreams, that we wish for the most needy.

I go out at night to reflect on the day,

               Mists rising from rivers and sloughs,

The fecund smell of this damp, fertile land

               Thousands of acres of agriculture and forests,

I go out late at night

               Restlessly waiting for spring.