Out of the night sky, stars fall.
No one sees them, of course,
But they land, ground-cupped,
Soft as snow drift, sporting
Mantles of winter’s signature white.
They bring ancestors' songs and secrets
That shape themselves into wind
Made blustery with wishes
And swirls of flakes dancing
To the memory of moonlight.
In the morning, the world
Is all covered in sparkles.
This has been a winter filled with white. Not since childhood has there been snow-on-snow-on-snow here, and now there are piles even higher than my head, and everything is snow-capped. Winter seems to have its own particular brand of inspiration, and the season has seeped into my dreams and invaded my Muse Room as well. Words like blustery, chill, and shiver flow onto the page as I sit nestled in my desk chair, fleece-covered and flanked by feline affection junkies.
Outside, the Greenman in my garden dreams of Spring.