In the Hollow of Winter’s Twillight


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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