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.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment