Tag Archives: winter

Snow

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A gentle falling
Of so much down.
A sleep, a dream, a cloud.
The muffling of sound,
Winters silence.
A sleep and a dream of clouds.
But waking is no dream,
This cloud’s not what it seems.
I was asleep in this dream of clouds.

Winter is Not Far

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In the darkened forest of
Those below and those above,
Followed I am through the dead and rustling leaves.
Summer sun or autumn light?
All but forgotten where I might
Have awoken in the midst of those lost trees.
My only clue is the warm
Of the breeze that around me swarms.
Here something whispers: “Winter is not far.”.
There’s a break in the canopy
That offers no new sight to see,
Only the grey that stretches on and on and on.
My steps carry me no farther
The wind carries words from afar, her
Messages are seldom those of comfort, much less of wisdom.
Raindrops and a cold now herald
The days end; my easy path turned feral.
Just how cold and wet remains for me to be seen.
No shelter, no end, no rest,
I wander on, and do my best,
To stay on a straight path, and not become more lost.
With daylight now expired
I sit, my eyes so tired,
And hope when I awaken that the world will be a different place.
I awake without opening my eyes
I’ll not do so voluntarily, something else must pry,
For the rustling of leaves tells me something I ought not to hear.
Standing up and pushing on,
I tread paths where nothing belongs,
And an echo of a whisper repeats: “Winter is not far.”

My Favorite Season

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I long for the days to grow shorter.
The heat to fade and the cold to grow harsher.
Spring only leads to summer, and fall not close enough,
Throughout the year, too much tangled up stuff.
Give me the storms and rain and snow,
As long as their wind remains cold.
Until the sun grows cold and gives us less light,
I’ll pretend I’m sleeping, I’ll pretend it’s night.

She Contemplates


She is the watchful in the dusk,
While we’re the waiting.
She stands in the forest dark,
While we’re preparing.
A friend of the ravens and the leaves,
Of melting snow and fallen trees.
Patiently we wait for her to awaken the bees.
Sleeping winter wakes
Springs fluttering eyes, their first look take.
And we the waiting
Gather the first flowers her bees pollenate.
While she, watchful,
Of where to send her first rain,
She contemplates.