11 Delights of Winter Evenings Down Here Saturday night. The ranger’s shut the gate. In the deep dusk I make his figure out Eyeing me as I wheel the Z about Five yards from his white gate-bars and hesitate At the open Exit. Never before so late, I park on up the road. He has the clout To turn me back, I half expect his shout As I slip through the nearly dark parking lot: Cold wind. Dark sea with sharp little peaks all over. This long bright strip I’m running on is lighter Than the sky! Back where the beach is dark some water Or foam — no, the white patch on a wing is flashing. Five terns — still seeing fish! — plunge, wheel, hover. Black stubs of surfers lift on a swell — that’s passion. 23