A Winter Field

there is a field, a winter field
surrounded by the pawns of spring
who jump up swift and quick laughing
but turn away at the first sight
of frigid dull brown slanted light

refracted from that frosty grass
and bifurcated by those blades
as sharp as ice cold edges grey
in stalemate stand off with the sky
the crushing pink-stained falling sky
inevitable in its swift
descent unto the frigid earth
so stark, so separate from all
the rest of the land, trees, the wind
that dances on the distant peaks

but the field, the winter field
holds itself high and falters not
beneath the fuzzy falling skies
within the breathy blasts of wind
and in full view of vernal sun

that field remains that winter field

5 thoughts on “A Winter Field

  1. Ah, yes, but spring will soon banish it thoroughly! Vanquish it to nothing!
    Love your poetry. So vivid and expressive. The word pictures are so good, though I love that you always post appropriate pictures to go with so we have the words and the visual. We don’t get such winters here, thankfully, but you described it so vividly I really could picture it.

    • Thank you! Sincerely. I am a little uncertain what I am writing about with this metaphor, but it snuggled into my heart so deeply that I went with it anyway…I have a number of ideas (death? Identity? Sorrow? Fidelity?), but the thing is? I actually like winter more than spring…she is grander than spring, less capricious.

      If you get any ideas what I was writing about lemme know lol!!

      thanks for the words about the pics. That seems to be a talent I have had always…waaay back in the early 60s, I used to make collages with magazines and I so enjoy the inner snik that happens when the right images fall into place and I feel proper and congruent inside.

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