Month: November 2019

The woods in winter:
The peeling bark, the skeletal trees.
The blood-red berries blinking bright,
The tracks of squirrels in the snow,
The sere brown leaves of beech and oak
So loth to let go.

You can see
The sun through arboreal traceries,
And flocks of twittering birds
Flutter and flit from tree to tree,
Then rise in a soaring cloud
And swim away.

The woods in winter
Are not dense or menacing or dark
As are the woods in summer.
You see what roots and rocks
To step around, what handholds
Will support you.

It is a joy
To walk the woods in winter,
To breathe the crisp cold air,
To clear the cluttered mind
To calm the troubled soul.
My place is there.