February 28, 2015 - 12:18
Leaves hardened in outlined impressions
marking a bench and a pathway, this home is not our possession.
Our marks recorded
by our connection, am I only rewarded?
Scattered footprints,
our negligent imprints.
Frosty covers illuminated
the freshness, fierceness, freedom contaminated.
The sun’s kisses seeping through,
crystalizing purplish-blue hue.
Unveiled weaves
interlocking branches, root systems, heart-shaped leaves
but mostly what is not perceived.
What is forgotten, what is left behind,
the shape, structure, and limits have been designed.
My words too restricted,
the changes are conflicted and cannot be predicted.
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"I prefer winter and Fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape — the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show." ~Andrew Wyeth
