Journey into Winter

What shall I pack of Springtime?

The first dank smell

Of thawing soil;

The sunrise, pink and tentative,

Restoring lightness to the sky;

The freshest, crispest green

Of tender grasses, bursting

With life’s return;

The birds, rejoicing,

At the triumph of returning

Out of death to life.

♥

What shall I pack of Summer?

Perfumed breezes,

Captivating color

Splashing everywhere;

Soft, warm rain, lightly landing

On my head and upturned face;

Barefoot walks down

Grassy paths beside

The streams of summer dreams;

And the glory of the days

Of growth out of beginnings.

♥

What shall I pack of Autumn?

Fiery trees, whose flames

Have died and leave no perches

For the birds whose nests

Lay hidden in their branches;

Winds that blow

And send our dreams

Flying, with departing wings,

That rustle like the brittle leaves

That line the path

From fire to ice.

♥

The journey of the Winter heart

Requires neither map nor chart;

The stillness of the inward path

Cries out like thunder

And we follow

To the place of our

Beginning.

Travel Light!  Release

The burden that would make

Your footsteps heavy.

Leave not a trace where you have walked.

©Pamela Stead Jones 2010