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.’
Perplexing, how it is done, shut off one light.
And, a new season has begun.
Brown, no longer, brown…it is everything.
The war of winter and wind pulsing through wooded veins,
Whispers of curses among all that is not public domain.
But in the end, unlike no breathable battle in history.
An auspicious transference of power…ends with only beauty.
Spring has become a prohibition era ghost.
Over imbibing one minute.
The next…an ungracious host.
Spring has started as a thug.
Full of bluster and ‘what for.’
A dire Macrame’ of rancor on distant tropical shore.