Yarrow House

Winter Meditation

    Lying here in an age-worn body,
     still piecing together mosaics
     from the broken dreams I’ve followed
     on my way to this dark night.
        
    Winter keeps rolling through my life. 
     Its arrival unpredictable but certain.
     Outward forms die. The juice is gone, 
     empty thoughts rattle aimlessly 
        
     inside this dry husk. A strong wind 
     could swirl me away. All becomes quiet. 
     Grows dense. Sinks inward. 
     Stirs. I know it  will stir. 

    After the last hope has frozen solid
     and shattered, spring, as unpredictable 
     as winter and as certain in the cold night,
     will unfold, and the juice will rise.        
       

Like what you're reading? Don't keep it to yourself.

Onetime reproduction for non-resale purposes permitted by the author with the following credit line: © Judith Yarrow, 2013