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Snow and the snow

I remember the snow falling,
Thick in gobbets,
The chill wind blowing out of the North and into my spirit,
And my breath hung in clouds
As the snowflakes drifted in cascades past the window –
And I imagined myself facing bears,
Silver birch fastened to the sides of hills in the distance,
And the calling of crows carrying on the still air that hung with butterfly kisses.

And the trees bent and bowed under their burden,
And the world stirred and shifted.

Here was my house,
Warm beneath the silence of its skin,
Sleeping in stillness,
The little fire hungrily throwing out heat,
The touch of its welcome light inviting me in as the cold whirls tasted my lips.

Brief flurries and the heavy weight of damp snow beneath an endless sky,
Crunch and squeak of my boots leaving iced footprints,
The loneliness of my heart gently beating.

Snow, and the falling of snow,
Trapped in a world without end bounded by the narrow and the now,
A palace for my dreaming.

I wished myself forever there,
And the moments softly fleeing.

Now, and the now,
Held in bereft suspension,
A world tumbling and turning in on me,
Haunting,
Calling,
Forever falling,
My soul in communion with the reality that exists beyond my head,
My senses touched to the full,
And me there,
Reaching.

Blindly, cold, in the marvel of the morning,
Wrapped in a blanket of love and snow
Beneath a million eyes floating,
Stinging,
I stumbled to the end of the garden,
Passing waves of rhododendron,
The tall, thin trunks of birch,
The pine stoutly sleeping.

Snow, and the falling of snow,
And a grand sweep of silence
Coating the world in white,
Whispering at the edges.

Above me stood the pine,
Sombre, still, dark in the lightness,
And the snow kept coming,
Touching, sleeping,
Drowsy in its softness.

We were together then, me and the world.

Snow, and the snow,
Forever falling, reaching, weeping,
Softly sleeping,
Touching, dreaming.

Jan. 2008

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