I come across the smooth, glazed
pond frozen in gray November,
rimmed
by dark woods,
tall
pines and dense thicket.
I
imagine Christmas skaters
gliding
over the sheet,
hands
behind their backs,
scarves
waving behind their necks,
rosy
cheeks and down jackets
protecting
them from a chill
just
this side of death.
They
disappear.
I
am alone.
It
is necessary to make peace
with
such a winterscape,
to
breathe it deep into the lungs,
for
there are many more
waiting
in the woods.
It
will not last forever,
but
for now it is a day
that
masquerade morning,
light
muted to wool,
has
brought to pass.
My
eyes turn gray,
and
I am simply another tree
at
the edge of the pond,
rooted
and silent as the air.
I
will wait.
~William Hammett
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