The autumn wind has passed
And yet I've embraced the first
Of winter, the snow and leaves
All melded into one morning sun.
A cast iron whistling like the
Bells outside, the moonlit kettle
Casting a spell of white smoke.
The steam rises like a lily and
Steeps low like a willow, the early bird
Rising to greet the whispers of the
Morning fog and spring rain, quietly still.
You carve a home into your soul
And count the lumps of clay that
Had been used to make a garden.
The silent breach of the cherry tree
And the herbs you've grown for tea,
Everything was engraved into the soil
So that life can start anew and carry on.
You've inquired for many moons,
Laid pondering in the nest at dusk.
Have you seen the summer sun
And all the weeping storms that
Chase away the remaining light?
Would a creature lay waste to
That shadow in the mist or become
The wind beneath the wings of a crow?
Could you take a loose feather or
Wilted leaf and dig into the earth
For a treasure long lost to the stars?
Will you be able to smelt a lump of
Clay or coal and turn the mess into
A gemstone brooch to wear with pride?
Or would everything you make turn
Into heaps of stardust, like the ocean
That came from the cloak of night?
Like the breath you take from the air,
And the creatures that roam the earth.
Would you, born from stardust, meld
Even more starlight together until it
All faded into the weary, golden sun?