Standing on the front porch
I watch the sun rise over the

distant mountains and first light
run across the empty fields.

Morning wind pushes scattered stalks and coffee steam
while bird songs emerge from the tree line.

High bulbous clouds assume many colors
as the sun reaches higher.

Leroy lays at my side sleeping
as we watch night become the day.

For now I am the winter
beneath the mask
revealed beneath the
cold water of the sea.

Eyes open to the sky
above the surface
breath held as snow begins.

For now I am the winter
overtaking the autumn
slowing rivers and lakes
the graying sky swallows the sun.

For now I am the winter
beneath tall trees
releasing snow and ice
as they bow toward the earth.

Emerging from the trees shadow
I stopped moving,
looked up at the winter sky
and finally breathed, inhaling
this world, this scene, and exhaled
what has been holding me back,
what has become the burdens I carry.

Today I became the winter.

Shadows from high-clouds
in the early afternoon

pass over our faces
soaking in the autumn wind.

I woke in the fields.
The fields I have never seen.
The fields black beneath the white sun.

Limbs emerge from snow.
Snow scatters into the wind.
Wind twists the clouds around me.

From the horizon a train nears.
The horizon shakes and fractures.
The fractured fragments cover my mind.

I was not yet ready to awaken.

Evening clouds cross the open fields,
consuming empty space and trees.

We watch their fluid movements
and changing colors as the sun sets.

Each passing moment like snowflakes
and we struggle to take all of this in.

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Fading Light
Fading Light

I pass trees on either side, deeper into the forest and further form the fields, leaving one realm for another. I feel no fear of the unknown land I am nearing, and at this point there are no active thoughts of what I am leaving. I carry only the moment I am living and move with no effort.

Far from the fields I sing wordless songs. I sing to exposed tree roots, moss covered path, squirrels and birds. I sing to the sky free of clouds, and to the circling ravens. I sing to myself as the forest closes around me until my voice is completely silent.

Removed from the city
even for an afternoon
layers of stress and blocks
fall away, replaced by what
the wind brings, what the
trees take, and what the animals
are willing to share.

How else to rebuild the soul
than to witness firsthand
the infinite cycle of nature,
of earth, of home?

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Scattered dreams forgotten at first light.
A vague cloud follows.

Trees bend at impossible angles
the air wavers and shimmers.

I walk the dirt path worn
from ancestors and ancient methods.

Morning light through the tree canopy
casts fragments across my face.

I cannot help but feel I am being
followed by a shadow of my former self.