Call of Winter

I have always been in love
with the quiet parts of the world.

The full winter sun swathed in clouds
seen through the bare branches of
oaks, maples, elms
as the earth turns slowly back towards the light.

Walking across the open snowy fields,
the sound of a woodpecker's tenacious hunt
echos in the folds of my heart
where slow and still rhythms are given room
to stretch and breathe.

The earth is loosing her calm
as we pull her deep blood out,
burn it in our madness
to re-engineer the passenger pigeon
and wear machines to tell us
when where who how much.

I am guilty as all of us.
Which is perhaps why I love this still blanket of cold,
turning my thighs and cheeks red and itchy;
it reminds me of how
in winter, life sleeps in a way
unlike any other.
It is perhaps how this planet will be,
when all else has passed away.

*inspired after this, from Kathleen Dean Moore.