The Slow Hand of Winter

The slow hand of winter
reaches over the landscape-
crystallizing nature’s thoughts
as she moves beneath the surface

The slow hand of winter
wipes across a cloudy brow-
dusting the fields with white softness
and draining the sky of color

I breathe in the stillness
as I stop to look at the water-
I feel the calm of the day’s end
soften the harsh edges of the land

Then the slow hand of winter
brushes a cold breath against my face-
and I walk along, hopeful,
that the sun will return tomorrow