Author Archives: Dale Hobson

This poem is set on the night of December 8, 2020 after I drove home from the masked and socially distant village with the half moon shining high in my windshield. It took me a while to get it right, … Continue reading →

Wildlife are taking advantage of reduced human activity during the pandemic to show up in places where they are seldom seen. A bear moving into the stretch between Hannawa Falls and Potsdam has been the cause of some excitement, especially … Continue reading →

The Red Sandstone Trail runs between my home and the west shore of Sugar Island Flow on the Racquette River. I’ve been walking it since my teenage years, long before the local chapter of the Adirondack Mountain Club improved it … Continue reading →

While I was doomscrolling through the day’s news of politics and pandemic, the wind began to rise. I didn’t really notice at first, until I began to mistake it for a distant train passing through the village. Then the “train” … Continue reading →

As we teeter on the brink of the election and a third peak of the pandemic, it’s the little ordinary things that stubbornly remain ordinary that I find so discombobulating. Given the tumult of event and emotion, there should be … Continue reading →

On this day, the official COVID-19 death toll in America hit 213,000. It could have been any unimaginably large number, but was this. I wanted to capture indirectly the feeling of waiting and grief and isolation, of anxiety too long … Continue reading →

In my Facebook feed the other day was a picture of muppets from Sesame Street saying “The year 2020 is brought to you by the letters W, T and F.” Too true. In my Tai Chi class, we start by … Continue reading →

When times are dark and seem to be getting darker, sweet pastoral reflections feel a little disingenuous. Waiting Room Each of these lines contains five silent prayers, accent falling on the silence. Rhyme scheme is irregular as nothing is similar … Continue reading →