The earth no longer gives as I walk,
and the deer pause with snow on that surface;
hooves make no track in the soil beneath.
Overall, that ‘s not likely to change anytime soon.
And we ask: Can we travel? Will we ever arrive?
Ten billion stars in the earth’s sky,
illuminate much less dramatically than a car's headlights
and yet we intuitively know that is not the point;
as in the sunset each evening there is an answer
whether including clouds, or simply mist and snow, or only a slow fading,
therein comes faith that the sun will return and
that the snow will melt, returning to the soil a sweat which will again bead
and coax forth new life with warming sun.
With that return, deer, elk and sheep alike for a while will strive
For now, though, the present with immoveable, leaden skies without hue
and a similar greyed feeling, deep to the bone will change
and thaw past mud,
and though the wind now says that this is the way it will always be,
keep your ear to the heavens,
and in your heart, a verdant blessing for the buds on the tree.
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