it freezes- all across a soundless sky
the birds go home. the governing dark's begun:
the steadfast dark that waits not for a sun;
the undefeated enemy, the chill
that shall benumb the voiceful earth at last,
is master of our moment, and has bound
the viewless wind it-self. There is no sound.
it freezes. every friendly stream is fast.
it freezes; and the graven twigs are still.
excerpted from [month of] january by hilaire belloc
2 comments:
".... and the graven twigs are still" love that, and "the viewless wind" Yes, it truly is January.
the wind is racing through the bare trees outside my house . . . they are tall - seventy five feet or more . . . in one, a pileated woodpecker is tapping for food . . . with no regard for the wind, the snow . . . entirely hopeful of food . . . . steven
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