wildcat

The stars are reflected in the glimmer of the headlamp's light on the snow

And the air is frozen-- it feels like the sensation of holding your hand under water so burning hot that

it begins to feel cold

somehow.

A day as grey as

the clouds above it

And the hills, which have changed from green to orange to purple to a deepest blue in the fading light

with a few bursts of yellow from the beech trees, holding on in their marcescence

If life is full of the little things

like skating on smooth black ice and laughing with a friend

then I have nothing to look forward to

because there is good in every day.

Dear Mother, 

I have missed you these past few months. 

Where did you go? 

I see you standing there, torch held high, yet you do not answer my calls. 

What does it take to see the dandelions blooming in the spring, yellow manes bobbing in the wind?

What does it take to see the sun slanting through the windows, to hear the tree frog's chorus in the night?

I talked to a tree just the other day, I was walking past and it did say,  

Well, what are you? 

Just a traveler. 

But what are you? 

Why, a human, of course, you didn’t know?