Winter’s Nest

He gives snow like wool;
He scatters the frost like ashes;

Psalms 147:16

I must go through the wood again:
to gentle meadow, drowsy sky;
to trek about powdery drifts.
To feel ice sprinkled about my face,
my feet dance atop the stiff snows;
as December’s chilly wind blows
a song much like young babe’s cry.

I must go through the wood again:
snow as down upon a thistle. To
feel crunch in cumbersome boot,
sweet chick-a-dee on thorny branch,
far from wild mountain’s avalanche.
It’s here I come to visit cold to
face it with steps strong and bold
to hear land wail, wheeze and whistle.

I must go through the wood again;
it’s there the Christmas trees grow wild,
where child’s laughter can still be heard;
past private, prickly empty nest
where song birds no longer find rest.
Winter’s lost tales are often unspoken
in lingering steps, unseen cloak veiled;
as a child ages… like the evergreen.

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