Bare and brown
a fallow field
sprouts a crop of
grounded seagulls
hunkered down
against the chill;
a surreal scene
far removed
from those
Currier & Ives
paintings of
long ago.
Yet for me
beauty can be found
all the more in the
dun grays and umbers
of a naked landscape;
its stark vulnerability
a harsh reality
in the present,
but standing in
expectation
of renewal,
of hope.
Each season of rest
is welcome in a life
of constant effort
and energy expended;
like the bare trees
and roosting birds,
winter evokes a
meditative calm,
a chance to just
close my eyes
and dream
of rebirth.