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12/26/09 - (2)
A Change in the White Air
By noon, what was left of the tapering flakes had dissipated. By two, the pervasive white shimmer of sky Had given way to gray, gray to a breaking cloud cover,
Which, by 3:45, when I dressed in my hiking outfit, Had begun separating into opaque ivory, muted orange, steel blue, Promising the possibility of an azure twilight.
In my snowshoes, I realized how much better I'm getting At maneuvering through the woods, above invisible paths, Which, last summer, I could have scampered over, blindfolded.
"Crunch, crunch, crunch," the hard-crusted snow spoke to me, As I kept growing wearier and heavier, with each step — Feet, knees, thighs, hips, buttocks pumping, pumping,
Up and down the thick-coated hills of Spitting Spring Trail, Until, after an hour and a half, my body asked, "Is all this silent beauty worth it?"
Full-well knowing my answer, before I stopped in my tracks Just long enough to set their complaints to rest, Remind my throbbing heart that this was joy in its purest form,
A chance to have these woods all to myself, Confess to nature, face to face, without reservation, That I never believed such unadulterated inspiration could exist
Or that I would ever discover such tranquillity in timelessness, Within such immediacy, just by breathing deeply, Whenever my spirit is within snowshoeing distance of its soul.
Now, it's 5:15, and as I leave the woods to its quietude, Sunset, accompanied by Venus and a waxing-gibbous moon, Nods at my homeward-bound shadow, as though it knows.
12/26/09 - (2)
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