Winter

Winter air holds a holy silence

It's this silence that locates us

There is no answer from the mocking jay

The lake is frozen over

--

The trees are sleeping, no kindling to be gathered

All we have is what we have built when the days were long

And they have shortened their answer

To only an exhale

--

Not a voice to be heard between the icy trees

Only the stony echo of the words we grew ourselves

Day by day by day

--

And now, what we are is what will be for the winter

We rest in the cabins we have built with our actions

The blankets we have sewn with the cotton of summer

With the logs we have gathered in the heat

--

We lay still and listen for the echo of who we truly are

--

Poem By Nightbirde aka Jane Marczewski