Stark is the Comfort

And, thus the solitary season begins.

Stone cold silence from a white out.

Oddly enough…there is comfort with no history.

As the days grow more and more diminished…

And, the lights go out…imageedit_3_9068559963

Less and less the need for pretense.

Connoisseur of Cold

With enough imagination and time.eclectic-5

With enough imagination and time.

I have become a connoisseur of the cold.

The repetition.

The constant need for destination.

Peculiar manners in which aged snow becomes youthful.

I feel lost in thought.

Amid the quiet hum of winter’s animal.

Both being satisfying and dismal.

 

a New Hampshire Kind of Cold

When the trees talk like a playground of little children…

It is a New Hampshire kind of cold.imageedit_120_5650719992

When an already graying muzzle looks like a pile of powdered sugar…

It is a New Hampshire kind of cold.

When the earth moves below sedentary feet…

It is a New Hampshire kind of cold.

When the bark is pulled from the birch…

It is a New Hampshire kind of cold.

For such a small state of consciousness.

It takes a large dose of skepticism.

And, more than a pinch of foolishly bold…

To walk within, a New Hampshire kind of cold.

Winter’s Apple

Apple tree at recess.

Who could ask for more?

Charging to the front of a memorable mind.

Flashes of after clashes.

And, what has come before.

A bit of history to endorse nature’s tranquility.

Small Drippings of Arctic Awe

An arbitration of none…

Stop enjoying the cold.

Or…

Stop and enjoy the cold.

No more than a philosophy…

than a pervasive frame of mind.

New Hampshire elements do not mix with that which is…

gentle or kind.

I can take the small drippings of arctic awe.

Or…

transcend into an illusion of temperate novelty.