Thursday, September 12, 2013

A Morning in December

                                                             I venture into
snowy woods
to gather laurel
for old-fashioned wreaths
My breath
catches in my throat
from the crisp
frigid air
that’s stilled
as if in fear
of shattering
into infinite
glimmering crystals
if stirred
Whispers of sunlight
new fallen snow
disguise the path
that guides me
to nature’s opulence
of ravaging
the virginal white carpet
like some rake-hell
from long ago
invades my thoughts
Quietness reigns
except for the soft
submissive groans
of compacting snow
beneath my feet
Through misty breath
that seems to sparkle
and crackle
in the arctic veil
I enjoy the sparrows
flitting about
in igloo bushes
Crows unseen
announce to the world
my trespassing
while a pair of blue jays
vehemently squawk
their objections
to my presence
As I move
the chorus of protests
fades into soft chatter
and again I’m left
with the sounds
of my feet
spoiling the pristine
gift of nature
In the dense wintry woods
I find my bounty
and begin to harvest
until hands hurt
from bitter cold
and the snap
of frozen branches
against my fingers
take their toll
Steaming coffee
from the thermos
warms me
from the inside out
and in that moment
of contentment
I hear the faint
rustle of leaves
and spot a fluffy rabbit
eating red berries
under the bush
On hind legs
the rabbit sits
in the peacefulness
and I’m filled
with pure bliss
                    Chelle Munroe©
                          September 8, 2013

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