Slow Time Winter
The fog lifts, And the land is blessed by the warmth of the sun, The dew, sparkles in the morning light, Thin sheets of frost still lurk in the shadows, And the birds sing, Everlasting melodies drift on the breeze, The wan fingers of leafless branches, Gently swaying, Tiny buds sleeping, waiting, The promise of things to come, The sky, more blue than ever before, Fairy floss, white and light, Wisps of the morning, wandering by, The air, vibrant with the chill, Crisp and sharp, yet sweet, The lake, like glass, Mirror of a man’s dreams, Beguiling, caressing, The veils, like curtains of mist, Pass like silent spirits, Watching, yet seeing other, Gradually, time interferes, The scenario fades, And the day moves on.
Mathew Rush