The night is pitch black
A natural silence
Absolutely still
Settling into a creaky deck chair
I feel the wood stove heat
Wafting through the open cabin widow
Sipping whiskey
I hear the crack of shifting ice
Dancing through the dark
A sign
In the wounded light
Glowing from the old lantern
Gnats dart here and there
A sign
The snow under foot
Has a softness
Saturated
A sign
The change of seasons
Slowly creeping
Onward
