Wednesday, February 9, 2011

thirty below zero


come into the woods

the air is still and sweet
with the song
of a small bird
singing its tale of the snowy places
where ice fairies dance
hand-in-hand
with white rabbits
and wind spriggans

soft stepping
and floating on chilly zephyrs
past stately old maples
and graceful birch trees

we'll walk some more -
past bronzed autumn echoes
that rustle and shiver
with our passing
even as they reach
to kiss their own grey sliding shadows


oh, they remember us
from passings
not so long ago

footprints lost under the snow
under fallen leaves
under rain washed paths
under the dust
of summer

21 comments:

Ruth said...

You warmly link the little ones, the seasons, and our connections with them in this tinkling poem, Steven. Thank you. I just love the photo of the bronze leaves trying to kiss their shadows.

Rachel Fenton said...

"to kiss their own grey sliding shadows" - is a (pardon the pun) very touching line. (Metaphors are against me today)there's something moving, generally, about shadows, especially in clear winter light.

The Dutchess said...

Beautiful....

Elisabeth said...

You have developed such a rhythm in your words and images, Steven. It's entrancing.

steven said...

ruth - thankyou for your kind and thoughtful comment. i think that the very little and the very great are all the same in the natural world. the very little are fractals of the very great. removing the quantitative descriptors take us one step closer. but what to replace them with? wheels within wheels each with a purpose. steven

steven said...

rachel - the pun - excellent and well-taken!!! steven

steven said...

hello the dutchess!! thankyou. steven

steven said...

elisabeth - this was a piece that wrote itself in my mind as i took these photographs. thankyou for your generous comment. steven

Bee said...

I particularly like the phrase "past bronzed autumn echoes." We are at a stage where new growth mixes with what autumn left behind.

Is it 30 below, truly? Oh dear. I hope you are wrapping up very warmly as you venture out to take pictures. Do you still ride your bike to school as well?

I saw the first daffodil yesterday! (These daffs DO bloom early, and have been known to be buried in snow some years.)

Reya Mellicker said...

Sending warm warm warm warmth and hopes for an early spring to you!

ellen abbott said...

as usual, steven, as usual.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Those shadows falling on the snow are beautiful, steven. Greetings from the dales.

Jo said...

With white rabbits
and wind spriggans?

To see grey sliding shadows?

Yes, may I go, too?

I love the layer upon layers of this piece, Steven...the snow, the leaves, the path, right down to the dust of summer.

It's all there, isn't it? Even on a thirty below zero day, I can see it...thanks to you.

Quite beautiful, Steven. This one is a new favorite.

Pauline said...

oh! I like the last idea of our footprints remaining under the dust of summer! This is poetry at its best!

steven said...

bee on the day i took these photographs it was thirty below. it has warmed up somewhat since to twenty below. here's thee tradoff: clear sunny skies and deep cold. cloudy skies, sort of cold. what would you choose?!!! steven

steven said...

thanks reya - i read your post today and there's a slight smidgin of warmth and goodness hovering there but we've gotta be so patient..... steven

steven said...

ellen i guess so! steven

steven said...

weaver thanks for the greetings - there's a hunk of my heart wandering around in the groughs and along the rivers and footpaths..... steven

steven said...

jo - like all the happiest happy making pieces i write and pop up here it just tumbled out .... yep the world is that simple and that detailed . . . . thanks for the sweet comment. steven

Linda Sue said...

Yesssssss.

Terresa said...

"we'll walk some more -
past bronzed autumn echoes
that rustle and shiver
with our passing
even as they reach
to kiss their own grey sliding shadows"

-- Love the imagery, your words, which can be taken so many ways, a delightful poem, Steven.