to the silence in the winter woods,
a certain mystical vibration humming over the water,
making it hard to breathe without catching,
hard to sing without dancing.
to its shuddering, juddering pulse,
walk into that stillness where only dead leaves breathe
and winter berries surrender to a hungry bird
and a red-tailed hawk lazes on an updraft circling eights.
the path of light and deep shadows
comfortably wrapped around an empty wood,
embrace the gentle wind, nipping at bare cheeks,
nod to the cerulean sky, color for the blind eyes of winter.
dead branches soon to surrender to the snowing, blowing gale
jewels of compassion hiding dormant buds that wait
for the light of spring, to jump the threshold
when they hear the gentle call to unfurl.
companion of the reckless road
tune in to the pulsing beat of darkness
as winter drums its drum,
time to rest before the blooming work of spring,
time to rest before the blooming work of spring.