On a Midwinter's Walk

Frigid winter air as penetrating as glass shards,
aura of  implacability
Snow transformed into encasing ice, 
rigid and unyielding 
I walk on a small path through  my beloved trees 
Even they look adamantine and lifeless
Yet, under my foot, a green pine sprig
Perhaps a metaphor for new beginnings, 
closer examination of that many faceted 
jewel, our life
Layers of detritus removed in pain reveal
the blinding light

Note: We are now in the ancient Celtic season of Samhein.  To them it was a time of expectation.  They had no doubt that the earth, and they as part of it, would be renewed.