The road is white
with crystal light
And fields are bright
With frost,
Chilly air and whisps of mist
Over silver streams
And underneath cold bridges
A roe deer waits upon the brittle hill
Her puffs of breath, like little thoughts
Rise up and melt away
Like a knowing,
Half forgotten.
She turns
and races up between the rocks
Running
like wild water flowing.
#CoSopoetry