In the heart of winter, I stand,
Surrounded by a landscape of white silence.
The snow blankets the earth,
Each flake a delicate touch,
Soft, yet unyielding in its cold embrace.
The trees are skeletal fingers,
Reaching up to a sky of muted gray,
Their limbs bare, stripped of life,
Yet beautiful in their stark simplicity.
......
With my hand to the sun
I count them from left to right
Oh, how they scream
this murder of crows.
They dance and clamor
encouraging the sun to set faster
craving the arrival of shade
to offer rest for their tired talons.
......
In the heart of winter, I stand,
Surrounded by a landscape of white silence.
The snow blankets the earth,
Each flake a delicate touch,
Soft, yet unyielding in its cold embrace.
The trees are skeletal fingers,
Reaching up to a sky of muted gray,
Their limbs bare, stripped of life,
Yet beautiful in their stark simplicity.
......
With my hand to the sun
I count them from left to right
Oh, how they scream
this murder of crows.
They dance and clamor
encouraging the sun to set faster
craving the arrival of shade
to offer rest for their tired talons.
......