A deranged sky, late November
Raindrops glisten the limbs of trees
Snow, the impossible dream
Archives of winter under my skin.
Let’s stay in tonight
Lay back the quilt, olives & cheese
A glass of cold beer
Let old leaves tell the story
They know the truth
What ripens late, what
A hurdle the change
From brown to white
What a hurdle the change
From brown to white, wingless
Warm winter, a newly-splendored thing.
5 thoughts on “Winter Moth”
Nice one…I like to read your poetry posts out loud, to myself.
Warm Wishes your Way,
Yes, I think reading aloud helps find your rhythm. Thanks, Sadhvi.
The leaves are pretty much gone here in the Northeast, and my attention is drawn to those bare branches and, yes, the stories they tell. Everything seems so exposed, nothing hiding behind or under leaves. Your photos are all the more exquisite and enchanting on my new Macbook Pro (Retina display ;-).
No snow yet for you, too? Once a Mac…always a Mac!