lines of winter

In my close memory, green leaves turned gold, red, brown. The leaves fell from their branches to the ground. Wrapped in prayer shawl, a green hope swells from my memory: I know Spring will return after these days of Winter have had their say. I know this Spring will bid green and the other colors wherever she goes upon her return. Between this Fall and this fresh rebirth there is Winter. Days are shorter, darker, lucid. A drawing in occurs both in spirit and in body. The rising and setting sun shines itself into my south facing windows; I watch, I look, patiently, expectantly. The barren trees with their pointed limbs stretch, aching to be dressed in their returning green cloak. Until then, I will be enamored with the form of their lines silhouetting themselves against an enormous sky.


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This entry was published on January 15, 2012 at 2:44 am and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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