Winter

By Toni Truesdale

Northern winds slanting sleet,

The great still silence of heavy snow

Falling gently into vacant spaces;

Magnifying moon on a deep, dark night,

Deeply shawdowing indigo blues

Under still shimmering white.

 Sentry starkly quiet trees

Standing 

Over sleeping fecundity.

Long dreaming nights,

Under soft tactile blankets.

Savory smells of simmering soups

And heavily fragrant breads,

Taken from ancient stoves

With sacred inherited hands.

The cosmic fluidity of timeless cycles

On sovereign lands;

The old woman smiles

Copyright T.Truesdale 2019

ToniTruesdale.com