ravenedgewalker: (Default)
It is Imbolc and the snow is falling
covering the green shoots
and they are building snowmen in the grass,
making footprints in the snow.

Hush! Listen. Be still.
Tell me what you hear,
you, standing alone in the field
with the snow melting on your skin.

What do you hear?
Listen, past the beating of your heart,
past the breath moving in and out your lungs,
past the wind knifing past your cheek.
Listen, and tell me what you hear.

Listen. Yes, I am asking for a lot -
Yes it is cold in the field,
and the twigs bear frozen drops.
Tell me. Speak to me. I am waiting
I have time, and you - you do not.

I pause before I speak,
wondering as snow falls on my lips
and behind me covers my footprints.

"I hear silence, as if the snow
has sucked the sound out from the world,
muffled and cloaked the trees
even as the winds whetted edge
twists and turns in their branches

I hear nothing,
as the three swans land perfectly
on the ruffled gray surface of the lake
no splash,
only silence in the space between
the falling of the snowflakes"

The snow swallows my words
taking them and leaving no trace
to mar the perfect silence.

That, then is all,
I walk, snow squeaking under foot
listening past the sounds
to the silence of the snow.


ravenedgewalker: (Default)

December 2010

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