With the greyness
of the year
touches our lands
ever so slightly
and for a few moments
have new snow
on their peaks
in thin air
while the sun
they tell me
to gather wood
and warm the house
for the coming winter
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.