Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Winter wan

Where did the color go?

I too feel washed something other than clean, not rinsed and wrung either. Just a winter wan. 

If I kick about my ankles, time is not spooled like silk. Rather it is turning around me as a cotton batt tornado.

Silent and the birds have stopped singing as if I were in the eye.

Luckily there is touch. And texture. 

Running my fingers over a bit of bark or a gold-rimmed coffee cup heats the tips with sparks of blue, green, gold...

I lean towards the warmth and am pulled forward into the ticking minutes...

...and further down the wide if barren path...

...slow as breathing towards something resembling Spring.