A long breath of cold air rattles through my lungs, winter in the north has run it’s ups and downs, trending through the single digits into territory only in the negatives. Postcards from the south arrive via text and tweet, the condolences for snow and frigid cold somewhat pitying and raw. To see the sun rise over the newest of crystals creates a canvas for the night time dramas of survival that brush so closely I can touch them. It is difficult to describe, this wild sense of edges left as tracks in the snow. Another log on the fire marks the ever advancing sunset, and I marvel at what needs to be lived to be understood.
Categories: Poetry