In the Hollow of Winter’s Twillight

IN THE HOLLOW OF WINTER’S TWILIGHT

. 

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,

Skeleton-like,

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