..........As I write this, I am sitting in my truck, broken down, in a rest area just east of Omaha, Nebraska. One of my air lines on my trailer froze, then broke. At least the road service guy got here quickly, and I should be rolling again in a few minutes. I still don't know why folks want to live where it gets so cold. Anyway, I don't have too much to say, so I will sign off until the next time.

..........I arrived home around two o'clock in the afternoon on Wednesday after driving all night the previous night from just west of Toledo, Ohio. When I got home, I thought the ice storm that had been chasing me for a week had followed me to the deep South. Fortunately, all we got was a very cold rain here at home.
.......... I spent a lot of time sitting at loading docks last week, and as a way of relieving my frustration, I wrote quite a bit of poetry. One poem, entitled, Elk in Winter, was inspired by a memory of an elk I saw last winter, ironically atop Elk Mountain, out in Wyoming. He appeared out of the driving snow like a ghost in the night. I was captivated by the sight of this majestic animal nearly the size of a horse, with a rack stretching halfway down the length of his back. He was covered with a thick coating of ice and snow, and steam poured from his nostrils as he breathed. I doubt if I have ever witnessed a more beautiful sight. This elk taught me that even in a twenty below zero blizzard, beauty can be found in God's creation.
.........P.S.-My poetry book, Word Portraits, is now available through all of the online bookstores, as well as at the publisher's webstite, www.publishamerica.com.

ELK IN WINTER

The bull elk wonders
From the wind-driven snow,
Ice covers a grizzled back,
Steam billows from nostrils flared,
Antlers reach four feet breadth,
Haloing his majesty,
Standing proud upon a treeless knoll,
Surveying his kingdom,
The frozen plain.

CHOICES MADE

Praying out loud,
Cursing myself
Over choices made,
Dreams unfulfilled.
Praying out loud,
Asking why,
These choices have made,
The man I have become.



UNSURE

Unsure of myself,
Unsure of the world,
Unsure of this life,
Into which I am thrown.
Decisions I make,
More bad than good,
Though the best of intentions,
I always have.
Not wanting mistakes to be made,
Yet knowing that in such,
Wisdom is redeemed,
So wise I should be,
Yet ignorant I am,
Because mistakes I continue,
In my life they abound.
Learn I must,
From these actions of the past,
Because actions I take today,
Will become my legacy.

..........As I ran from Pennsylvania across to Minnesota, then down to Grand Island, Nebraska last week, I was thinking how nice the weather was. No snow, no ice, not even that ghastly cold weather typical of that part of the country. Then my daydreams were interupted by old man winter himself. I spent most of the weekend running from the winter storm that seemed to follow me where ever I went. It caught me twice, once in Iowa, then again in Illinois. I woke up this morning just west of Cleveland, Ohio expecting to see a snow-covered parking lot, but was happy to find only a cold rain. As I write, I find myself in Montpelier, Ohio, close to the Indiana state line. I am picking up a load early in the morning going to Athens, Georgia, then home.
...........I could not help but think about the similarities of running from this winter weather and the events of my life. I wrote a short poem that I would like to share with you.

OUTRUNNING THE STORM

Outrunning the storm,
Like a ghost in the night,
Her fury follows closely,
Breathing cold breath upon my neck.
Outrunning the storm,
She catches me often,
From her icy grip,
I struggle to be free.
Outrunning the storm,
My life I have spent,
Searching for calmer winds,
And cloudless skies,
A place in which to rest.

...........Y'all, it is cold here in Minnesota. DANG COLD! Especially for a Southern boy like me. I have a new joke for Jeff Foxworthy. You might be a redneck if you drive out on a lake in below zero temperatures, sit in a little hut all night, and fish through a small hole cut in the ice. Yeah, these crazy folks really do that. I saw them. But, the craziest thing is, I think I would really like to try it myself. Does that make me a redneck? I'll leave that question open-ended.
...........I am picking up a load in the morning in Eau Claire(I think I spelled that right), Wisconsin, and taking it down to Grande Island, Nebraska. I should beat the aproaching winter weather for that area. I just hope they don't send me west, back into it, on my next load.
...........Oh, well. I have to go now. I should be at a truck stop tomorrow where I can post again. I will try to have a poem or two then. By the way, my new poetry book is finally out. You can find it at www.publishamerica.com, or at any of the online bookstores. The title is Word Portraits.

As my profile states, "I am a poet and a novelist trapped in a truck driver's body." This describes my current state of mind fairly well. I arrived here in New Kingsland, Pa. yesterday around 7:30 in the evening. I parked at my company's terminal with the intention of getting my truck serviced this morning. Now, a routine two hour preventative maintenance has turned into a major mechanical marathon of sorts, which I have no idea when it will end. Finally, after nearly coming to blows with the shop foreman, I was put up in a motel room that has stained carpet, dirty sheets, a hard bed, and smells much like my dog when he gets wet. Meanwhile, the mechanical genious that is attempting to put back together that which he tore apart on my truck, is probably eating his lunch or taking a nap. I just hope and pray that I can get rolling again before lunch tomorrow, or I will never make my destination of Prattsville, N.Y. on time. Meanwhile, I have no new poetry, because if I attempted to write a poem now, it probably would not be very nice. By the way, if any of you here of a good literary agent willing to take a chance on a truck driving poet, send me a message.