Thoughts on Cold Country Night
The moon gibbous, rising
sun-like bright, sky that deep purple of Zane Grey
silhouettes the
fractal branching of the wood,
as does in west the
long gone sun of this now deep-evening day.
I pause a moment in
the dark under-story at the rudimentary compost pit
when ghost flickened
snow shadow seems to dart away -
weasel, cat, ground
bird harvester - weaving the ripple on
my skin.
Unbidden ancient ancestor
atavisms my tutored id
as, unbidden, wild
geese night flying guided by albedo give vent to
that cry, layered
onto our brain from when we dark ages hid
gathered in caves and
barkened huts with flame a god against
the even then
abstraction of the what and why and dread.
Breathe air in deep
and cold layered into my chest in soothing
balm against my aging
old and memories blest – and gone
from this spark
flaring in the void - brightening, becoming, too soon
fading – leaving light
rays pulsing outward into that void on and on and on
in coded message to
the unknown, unbearable, unresponding void.
norvellhimself 14Dec'13
norvellhimself 14Dec'13
P G tips - for the morning cuppa'
usually it's either Canadian King Cole or loose tea from the little local store - Leaves and Beans - but this a.m. we fired up some P G tips from Merry Olde England - not bad
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