a poem inspired by the remaining days of Dreaming season.
winter day
It’s 7 degrees.
Rhododendron leaves hang brittle and black,
rolled tight
like chandelier crystals,
like fairy charms dangling from the trees along the river.
Even the air feels brittle,
crisping my lungs as I breath in.
But the treetops are alive,
flitting and twittering, hopping
with chickadee-dee-dees.
Blue jays, fat as pears,
pick and preen,
vying the frozen sky for the bluest blue.
And all around is the subterranean secret,
the breathing, dreaming masses
of Black Bears,
mothers bearing cubs into the dark den.
Birthing while dreaming,
by design.
love and dreaming dens,
xo
kv
