Written on a blue paper sky,
late autumn sentences are spelled out with twigs,
punctuated by small, black birds.
A sketch of leafless trees,
colored-pencil straight,
line up in shades of gray and brown.
Tales of a winter hillside,
an ice-skimmed pond,
geese listening for their cue
to close the book,
leaving silence and snow
behind.
5 comments:
Your words make the transition from one season to another - hard to believe fall is gone and winter has arrived.
Last year I threw some worms to resident ducks to get them to open the ice in front of me so I could trout fish.
Rilke speaks of approaching winter as the time when nothing is left but long, solitary walks and the writing of letters. For him too it is silence which brings the year to a close.
Pauline, i don't realize how much I miss your writing until I come back and read a post. So beautiful!
Beautiful - you inspired me in a new direction. Thank you.
XO
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