“In The Hollow of Winter’s Twilight”


(“Off the Coast of Ireland”, watercolor, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2004)

In the hollow of winter’s twilight
The ground of the soul is darkened,
Silent, waiting,
Winter’s winds now shallow breaths.
Muted tints
Flood earth and sky,
Black bare-armed trees,
Softened in this sullen light,
To clothe eyes with longing.
True winter has begun.
This season of scarcity,
Survival never assured,
The very thinness of air,
A sharp, searing bitter breath of air,
The inhaled pain alerts to life.
No excited cries of birds,
No rumble of young squirrels
Turning tree hollows into hide and seek,
Only faint tracks in the layered snow
Given evidence of others,
Small three-point, delicate prints
As if a creature pranced on tiptoe.
There is little left to do
In this darkened ground of soul-time
But rest before the fire
And fill the hollow of the season
With hope, patience and desire.
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2018


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