An eerie stillness permeates the air
And with the wind the trees doth creak and moan.
Their naked branches not so very bare;
As coat of ice doth shiver, shake and groan.
Ol’ Man of Winter hath his fury wrought
As Mother Nature weeps for what she’s lost.
The children of the Earth in tempest caught
Their innocence, as e’er, too high a cost.
The calm after the storm a vacant shock
As minds and hearts and souls themselves adjust
To what is lost of nature’s precious stock
And come to terms with this we children must.
For precious life to all of us is given,
But none of us are guaranteed to heaven.
I’ve started a new journal.
As I am inclined to do, I flipped through the pages of my last journal to see what I’d left behind and found this sonnet written during the great ice storm of Christmas week December 2013.
Written by candlelight, I imagine. I don’t remember. That week is such a blur. Surreal, I suppose.
I love trees and it distressed me to see them suffer under the volume of ice they bore.
Now, two months later, the only ice left is under foot, and this is a hazard all its own.
Perhaps a month from now the view will be green instead of white. Judging by the mountains of snow and three inches of ice underneath it, spring could be a long way away … and messy.
Still, snow can be so pretty.
Thanks for visiting,
©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell Creative Works