It’s a different way of looking at things,

of celebrating half-light and fog.

For instance, a bee I saw, just

for an instant, fumbling among

the camellias and darting past

the dog’s head. You’d almost believe

it was Spring, forgetting the windmills

droning all night to save the lemon

trees from frost. But the chiminea,

warming in compassionate sunlight,

is half full of rain. And in January,

I prefer fog. I would rather have

a morning with the houses gray

and almost lost in it. With Papa

standing by the pickup, asking

if I’ve got good tires, a full tank

of gas, a map, some cash.

They called him Bee. He liked

a Timex watch, a good pen

in his pocket. Ballpoint, blue.

I had everything I needed, checked

everything but the weather.

So he stood there by his house

in the long, cold January, foggy

San Joaquin, breathing gray exhaust

in the gray world. He stood there,

waving as I disappeared.

Kyle Kimberlin

January 15, 2005

with Grandma & Papa on my way to CSU, Chico, January 1983. Click on the image to enlarge.