at sunrise on winter days, our trail unfolds
through freshly fallen white, and every unhurried
through freshly fallen white, and every unhurried
footfall crafts another waxing moon,
the sound of our muffled steps rising
through hedges and snow-drowned spruces,
three hearts beating together in perfect time.
frozen goldenrod and milkweed fronds,
frozen goldenrod and milkweed fronds,
great trees weighted down by the season,
all incline their heads in greeting.
all incline their heads in greeting.
ghost choirs of last summer's grosbeaks
sing above our heads, and phantom starlings
dance along roof lines as we pass by.
lady winter rounds the village out,
lady winter rounds the village out,
smooths the contours of house and street,
spins flowing deserts out of snow.
in morning softness, we know ourselves
spins flowing deserts out of snow.
in morning softness, we know ourselves
at last—perfect, still and so complete
nothing abandoned or left behind.
Cate
Cate
7 comments:
🙏🏻❤️
And so it is...
Lovely...
Yes, Cate.... beautifully expressed. I was actually quite SAD yesterday, around lunch time, when I saw that kids and their parents had walked right in front of our windows and patio and left ‘horrible’ traces in the hardened pristine snow from a day ago. It looked so clean, fresh, comforting and light - and then those traces....
Three hearts beating together....
Your soulmate?
Barbara, my departed soulmate is always with us on our morning rambles.
I knew it. That kind of deep, abiding love is an inspiration. I love your posts and your photos.
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