In the woods,
All is silent but for the twinkling sounds of falling snow
Flakes descending, like crystals
They are bejeweled with angles that dazzle and delight, so delicate
Each one unique among millions.
And in the woods,
All is quiet but for the sound of my skis sliding across a clean slate of powder
Fresh tracks to follow, fresh tracks to create.
You can almost forget your worries upon waking as the day dawns,
and seeing the glimmering display of nature that makes the world seem new again.
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?
Comments
This is the kind of winter we all daydream about in the summer, before we're in the midst of it. The kind without black-ice roads and a below-zero wind chill and gray slush everywhere -- just a quaint, peaceful, magical hush blanketing everything, snow twinkling in the sunlight. Today, you've reminded me to appreciate the beauty of the season.
Thanks you! I think we all needed a little positivity when it’s raining in January.
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