It started out as one, all the same
in time some told to go, change
falling to be replaced, worn down
still together in being, different.
It comes from under the door
from far, driven by the wind
What it is? That’s waiting out there.
Life, thinly spread out in the valleys of white mountains and dark soil.
The loneliness here is in its nature close when the silence takes you.
And the cold coming from the mountains gives you a harsh calm.
A road, lost in a vast landscape, under just fallen snow.
On a morning where the world still sleeps,
and an early sun draws shadows on the hills.
I see this all, smell the cold air, and walk in careful silence towards my destination,
where a white shroud is brushed away in thoughtful patterns.
The night is gone, we role forwards to make a new track and find soil.
The mid-winter sun
following time slowly up
melting winter snow.
Trees, dark and waver,
for a gust is all it takes.
Peril, at lee side.
The snow falls and forms
paths you follow by habit
a warm scarf is fine.
In a bare season
trees still lose their summer pride
as we all should do.
Cut off, fallen decaying leaf
colors fading into the grey
rain, midwinter receding
The longest night just past
the bright outside light takes
the light away from shadows
when it turns off
Frozen, silver white crystalline leaf’s
Natures delicate sculptures
Waiting for a dark blue vastness
The sea, their mother to rise and reclaim.
Cold, bright winters light
the worlds veil slowly slides of
tears form where I walk.
The black trees statues
saluting a winters gift
dead leaf’s decompose.
A winters wear and time
table with a flower in the sun
colorful demise in hibernated time.