A Good Winter
Cold and still and just warm enough
that the creek has begun to thaw.
You hear the ice crackle as it washes down the creek.
Otherwise, it is still.
The coyotes have gone to bed in the treeline.
The bats have returned to their cave.
It is too early in the season for the birds to have returned.
The silence suits you.
Emptiness. Space for the poison to melt,
sure as snow, just another season
in a lifetime of them, all remembered,
most survived with a minimum of scars.
It has been a good winter this year.
Bitter cold, yes. But each few days a smattering
of snow, just enough the word remains sparkling,
a beautiful pretense, a pretending
of a dark world made fresh, at least
until the thaw.
About this poem
I tend to look at things romantically. It’s just how I see. Now and again, it bites me.
It’s worth it.
PS: The picture was taken at the quarry across from my home.