Winter Life

I would that life could always last.  

I can relish in the warmth around me, 

but I'm cold. 

This life is cold. 

The cold keeps me alive. 

Keeps me breathing. 

I can feel it fill me 

and in me 

and outside me; 

I take comfort in it. 

Knowing that the cold is there 

keeps me moving, 

lest I freeze. 

I would that I could stop and bask, 

inside 

on wintry days. 

It keeps me. 

It guides me. 

But I know I must walk 

that snow white path. 

To places unknown, 

cold and reasonable. 

Defying logic, 

I fly along, 

falling, 

skipping, 

gliding, 

diving, 

as through a storm. 

A single fleck, 

and bite, 

a chill, 

a frost upon the earth. 

I am a drop, 

that is unlike all others, 

frozen 

in the womb of the sky, 

given birth 

by the pull of the earth. 

Drifting. 

I go. 

I move. 

I make clean, 

and cold. 

I become part of that 

which has always been. 

I melt 

and become again, 

just as the snow 

through which I tread. 

I am a traveler. 

A wanderer. 

A tree, 

along the path. 

Living and clinging, 

to the frozen earth. 

Majestic and strong. 

The mountains shelter all. 

The sky meets 

the top 

and the life springs anew 

in it's many depths and heights. 

Soaring, 

I am above it all. 

The sky and light, 

life and song. 

Through the vacuum, 

all things glide. 

The eternal 

cosmic dance. 

Ever moving, 

always taking, 

always giving. 

Through 

and through 

and all things go. 

I go as well, 

and I end as well, 

and I go as I always have. 

Author's Note

I blame Thoreau for this one.