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WINTER WALK


The pale sun
impotent in its faded light
seems frozen in the
whitewashed sky-
and I
march across
a frosted land,
the meadow grass
crackling underfoot like
a snaredrum keeping time-
and I
smell winter
in my hair as
the chill wind swirls
around my head, all
woodsmoke and snowflakes-
and I
feel the essence
of winter in my bones
chilled though they be-
serene, restful, and
at peace.

K.Tate Jacoby
copyright Jan. 2000







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