Late afternoon slides into early evening along a frost winter trail. The air turns colder as the sun sets, and I head for the warmth of hearth and hot cocoa.
I wanted to ring in the first post of this winter season with a picture and poem.
by W. S. Merwin
The cold slope is standing in darkness
But the south of the trees is dry to the touch
The heavy limbs climb into the moonlight bearing feathers
I came to watch these
White plants older at night
Come first to the ruins
And I hear magpies kept awake by the moon
The water flows through its
Own fingers without end
Tonight once more
I find a single prayer and it is not for men
Enjoy your December night.