With moments such like a desolate snowflake, hanging from the sky.
I walk my daily assertions and provoke, why?
The cold and the lucidity encapulates me.
I cannot always get there from here.
Yet, I am still open wide and apathetically, naturally, translucent to what nature offers me.
Traveling left of false roads…lifting a heavy foot, I am not too old.
Too old to bear the fruit of red berry, solo on downtrodden branch.
Further, into unmarked mystery, for bleak seconds, I find my second chance.
Country affirmations leave a stone heart vivid with darkened greens and snow-blind white.
Country proclamations steal my sideways glance.
Not all that is meant to be…
Not all is within sight.
