Winter
Like two negative numbers multiplied by rain
Fir trees whisper wind words
Short days bring long nights
Age like polished stones found in the creek
Worn, shaped by the flows of rains past
Not wise nor unwise
It is foolish to let the young tree grow so close to the house
Doing the washing up my window frames its boldness.
Mending of socks, cleaning boots
I wait for first snow
To forget and begin again
~me
(inspired by Jane Hirshfield)
