The path through the woods
where I find my words
has frozen over.
Thick crust and ruts
slice ice-wafered trails,
no passage under armored skies.
All night wind driven ice
has pounded the roof above my bed.
Deep winter works its magic
in reverse.
I have been pokey this last month or so...not much writing being done...what is it that I wanted to write about?
I have been visiting the Underworld...pondering and processing...Who knows what may rise up...what may wander out of the over-wintering cave?
Today, it is raining hard and thick. I am looking through the window, watching the water glaze the stark black shapes of the winter landscape, the many shades of gray and black...
Deep under the earth, things are stirring. This will be a year of many changes. I feel the rising, the finger-drumming, the tap-tapping of the invisible foot...
Quiet excitement.
I wonder now, what will I be processing this time next year?
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