White spirits fall
from cloud batter skies.
The world turns to something new.

Icy streams gather around
the empty limbs
of barren trees.
Lengthening longer
as day passes on,
they flicker like stars
held only inches from the ground.

There are no tracks
in this foreign land.
only effortless horizons
dotted by the formidable pine.

The snow wraps the rocky surface
like a soft blanket
tenderly covering
the nourishing world beneath.

Buried below the air’s ashes
is the slow bearing heart
of another season,
silently waiting
for the Sun’s power
to wake again.


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