Cold, Light, Winter
i'd like, now, to talk about the cold.
how it sets in and how it doesn't let go.
this is winter.
the molecules within me slow and
so does the rest of the world until
all is moving at speeds that barely allow for life and
one morning we find that the last of the warmth
has flown south for the season .
i lower my head and quicken my steps.
there is no reason to look at the trees anymore. i am sure because
all color is gone
but, branches scrape at the sky and so I begin to
lift my eyes from time to time, shyly,
my mind colors the stark sillohouettes; delicate and defiant and
i remember what was, what will be.
i also remember that there is light in winter.
and if numbness sets in, i remember how pinpoints shimmer
between the green of the needles, between the clouds.
right now, i soak in the light
when the rays of the sun weaken and
the horizon goes gray.
above all, i know: loneliness can’t settle in to stay
as long as these lights remain.
these lights and others—
the purpleorange of the flames
that illuminate the pages of my father's book,
the blue glow of snow that looks so soft so soft but
crunches beneath the heel of my boot.
this cold, these lights
spin together to the rhythm of the darker days
spin together until I can only
absorb them both, absorb them all.
somehow, i don't mind it.
the air that skims the surface of my skin
cleans me, wakes me up.
i quicken my step;
branches scrape at the sky and so
i lift my eyes from time to time.
5 December 2011
