A Time For Sleeping

Saturday was a cold, gray day.

I lit the fireplace for a quick warm up.

Before leaving the warmth of
the cottage

I wrote a little more,
donned my hoody and coat

turned off the gas
grabbed my camera and

entered the cold but
beautifully pure, refreshing

northern air.

I walked up the hill,
along 23 to

the alabaster pipeline then
backtracked toward where

my journey began.

At the bottom of the hill
frozen water looked like a small stream

or a miniature river system or
what a large river basin would look like

from high above.

Two sets of raccoon tracks lead to
a fork along

the frozen highway dusted white with snow
where they parted ways.

My frozen world had become
suspended in time,

fully sleep within
the ground of shadows,

all things living
framed in shades of gray

naked, dead or
alive and

waiting.

But, for what?

For summer’s light to return
life’s burning ember,

for warmth to come again,
a time to grow

from liquid water sugar fed
the leaves and buds of trees absorbed

from sunlight stored
a hundred differing shades of green

their roots reaching deeper
seeking … seeking …

seeking to remember …

But for now?…

a time for

sleeping .,..