That winter morning when
all is silent, slow,
no need to rush to work,
to call upon the worry
that lurks in wait—
for free moments to strike;
not today.


This new day is quiet,
meant only for me,
my reflection glimmers
across painted icy frost,
brush strokes made bold—
call attention away;
hopeful thoughts...


They stir in early dawn,
though the holiday
awaits with a bustle
to sleigh me far far away
down snowy trails—
not this year, I refuse;
all of it.


I shall lie coldly still
inside Season’s breath,
the purity sparkles
like diamond dust settling
in porous bones—
secret healing abides;
in gratitude.

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