poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
Slowly turning, falling, finding its way
in the soft wind
a snowflake floating
as if prayers were always answered
descending down
until finally finding
its way
to the man’s nose.
Producing yet another
smile on his face.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
When ice flow melds into the ravens’ wings, freezing
and hindering their hate
we will drape ourselves with immeasurable beauty
the pine trees magnificent,
the strength
of the colder air
and the peace washing us
in the snow,
all within
the flow
of the winter sun.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
Was it you I saw in the snow, and the wind?
Or was it the silence of your shadow?
Or your spirit searching
for some kindness in this world.
As if church bells still rang
from inside the fortress
and people could still gather
together safely.
No, it wasn’t you,
but I know I heard the whispers
of people as the wind blew,
prayers for peace,
some type of peace
during this season
of Christmas, and
the Festival of Lights.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
When winter begins his slow descent
with a low growl through the trees
with a howl in the wind,
we will rebuke him sharply
releasing peace in the snow,
and quiet in our hearts.
Shunning any notion
of an apocalypse.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
It snowed again today, winter surrounding the autumn flame. He put on his hat and coat, remembering his younger days running, falling down, sledding down Tucker’s Hill.
He just stood there, feeling the silence falling, even though he was older now, he suddenly had an idea, involving a trashcan lid and the thrill of sliding down – Grandma’s Mountain.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
There was a presence in the trees, as the snow fell quietly
it nearly took his breath away, this presence counted his scars,
and then there were none
as if he looked back
as a survivor
that could see the air now
a presence that held him
still, he remembered it suddenly
as if it were light.
Yes,
it was called
peace.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
Even in the last days of winter,
in an early spring snow,
the forest will hold on to
our sacred space
a place of meditation
and prayer,
so that our spirits can embrace
the silence,
and be strengthened.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
