There are eccentricities about time that many… will never get.
Similar to chasing the family pet.
There is a mortal need to have it all around.
Thou, it is injured and too tightly wound.
It may surface that there are brisk critics regaled for being too passionately black.
And, those willing to make the ‘devil’s pact.’
As followed, before, the ache arrived, minutes filled the air.
As original as, the snowflakes in which we place our grateful cares.
Mind over the matters of time.
The pain of neutral.
No joy from fast forward or rewind.
For myself, revelations, on a dusky December day,
That, I too, conceded,
from the comfort of living in the in between.
There had been a frozen dust to the air.
It covered my tracks…
Or, considerate me…
I found myself not lost…for I never looked back.
The Winters are so short—
I’m hardly justified
In sending all the Birds away—
And moving into Pod—
Myself—for scarcely settled—
The Phoebes have begun—
And then—it’s time to strike my Tent—
And open House—again—
It’s mostly, interruptions—
My Summer—is despoiled—
Because there was a Winter—once—
And al the Cattle—starved—
And so there was a Deluge—
And swept the World away—
But Ararat’s a Legend—now—
And no one credits Noah—
A winter’s flower.
How do I disgrace thee.
When you provide me with such symmetry.
An all seasons charm.
How could I not seek but always see.
And, though the footpath is slow
to where you are.
The earthen tones splendor like a distant star.
Winter’s flower by Tree Farm Loop…
take a left off Baptist Hill road.
Near where the Shakers grow old.
The great deceiver? These platelets of ice…leading me to believe ‘if I’ve stepped there once…I can step there twice!’
In the midst of the fall, hanging vaguely onto drawing myself near to dear.
All I hear is, Mother Earth calling me…
‘I am the the greatest magician of them all. One will never be able to stand on all that is borrowed.’