In spring: winter.
A slow unraveling,
season from season, day from night,
the threads of one life from the tapestry
of another.
Cells detach, fingers loose, lips unlock.
Slowly, knees buckle
and touch earth again.
A flickering of pale light in the window,
a fine mist turning the sky opaque.
A calm quiet place in the woods,
spot of sun, cover of trees,
knowing you are just beyond
the edge of the woods
in your own sun:
all I need.
(Painting "Ziema" by Viestarts Aistars. To see more, visit
http://viestartsaistars.blogspot.com )
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