against a winter sky
hiding in the snow
I stand at the kitchen window on a winter afternoon when the sun is fading and the pink light reflects on the snow; soft, cottony pink and mauve with a blue tinge at the edges. I want to paint it, memorize it, eat it, inhale it, this tranquil light. As it grows darker, my reflection begins to materialize on the glass. Eventually, I’m left standing at the window facing an inky blue background behind the mirror image of my face, which looks old and tired; time has not been kind. But on this evening, it doesn’t matter–I am fortified by the light and the glow and the soft and graceful exit of the sacred winter sun.
if i could fly, i would land upon your antlers and rest my weary wings
This morning i walked outside and saw two mourning doves in the trees. There was also an uncharacteristically quiet blue jay flying about. It was early, the mist was rising from the snow. The sky was a light grey that contrasted with the tree silhouettes; nearly brutal in its definition.
It is a new day, what shall we make of it?
it was as light as the future,
and as heavy as the past
“Snowflakes are not made for solitude; each, with outflung arms, tangles and meshes with its neighbor; over time, they compress, become ice. But ice is mutable, even in the deepest cold. Inside a glacier, pressure and affinity will melt ice at temperatures far below freezing, so that two pieces, in contact with each other, melt and refreeze as one.”
from the book, Under a Pole Star by Stef Penney