And so the juncture of cold comes
like prancing paws
echoing on ice
here again,
gone again,
until it's here to stay
drowning the particles
of grasses and
in a kind of liquid trinity.
The tide of seasons
rolls in ever
lapping at the weeks
and months
with a familiar-ness
of which we know
so well
we could feel in our sleep
or hear in our dreams;
or catch
And we begin to think
that it has always been this way,
the way of the seasons;
of ebbing.

Of the way
of rain on the roof,
of clefts in the earth
given us from the
anguished skies;
of the joy of winter,
and the revival of our
souls in the hope
of Spring.


melanie said...

would love some help...especially after the 13th...moving a bunch of stuff to STARS then...
call the store and we can chat...or come by soon...
thanks for the comments...will miss my favorite customers like you!

melanie said...

one more thing...you'll have to help with the shows next year!