Winter

the trees claw the sky, looking for the sun that warmed them
bitter winds bite where gentle breezes used to blow
the flowers are no more: one unwilted is a gem
rotting remnants cover the places where green things used to grow
the snow has not yet come, but fall has gone away
nature is held in limbo, waiting for clouds that haven’t arrived
earth waits for the white, hoping winds haven’t blown it astray
the sky stretches blue above, from which the blue of ice is derived
one no longer hears the humming of the crickets playing at night
the sun awakens to a silent world, free of the joyous songs of birds warm
sunlight no longer comes; instead there’s cold, hard white light and its
frigidity causes loss of breath and loss of words
but watch as the clouds amass overhead, graying the noontime skies
listen as the world becomes silent, readying itself for the beauty to come
see the icy crystals fall, in and around, blinding your eyes
hear how the thunder rolls in from afar, its magnificence more than any drum
and the earth submits to the snow once more; every animal, tree and leaf,
the frog in his pond, the mole in his burrow, and the bear in his den
nothing is there to watch as earth puts on her annual white motif
no one is there, to know or care, that she is beautiful again
                                                                                      Adrienne Graves