The Late Winter Rain

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Sleepily, before the morning dawn, mist begins the rain.

As I listen in the dark, ice crystals descend here

and there on the roof. Pitter patter,

then, in an opening of the heavens

the snow is washed disappearing,

a silent reminder

of the promise of spring

living in more than

our distant dreams,

as I pull up the covers enfolded

and fall back to sleep.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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The Wind Coming Down from the Mountains

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As the winter storm roared through the trees, thunder rumbled rolling

through the valley, having been sent down the side of the mountain,

and I realized our spirits are so fragile, we often sense

the loneliness of the wind, with snowflakes swirling,

and yet inside our cocoons, we acknowledge the safety

and that God was never angry, even though

He probably does live in the wind

coming down

from the mountains.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

As Chipmunks Burrow a Little Deeper

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A shifting drift on the mountain ridge maneuvers

as a fresh layer of frozen white settles into the Earth.

The bluest of blue skies seems to hold in the coldness,

as chipmunks burrow

a little deeper, to escape the cold

and the watchful eyes of the hawk perched high

in the pine trees.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Winter Still Speaks

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It was in the winter when I first began walking,

seeking the journey of a quiet spirit,

the healing of silence in the woods,

the wholeness of a snowfall

in the purity of cold air.

And still today

the wisdom of a young man’s heart

can defend, provide a light

for this old guy to follow.

Winter still speaks.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies