My journey through Nature’s community, Standing in brown dead needles, Gift wrapped in dark, rough bark. Frozen hard by the bitter cold, Does not give in to weight, While glistening in the sun. Being smothered by melting frost, While at peace with nature. May rise in the east early, But now ‘tis settling, Settling in its final location. Small, black winged flying machines Gently landing in the white terrain, Break nature’s soothing silence In order to communicate with each other, Necessary for their survival. Bidding farewell to the aging giants, The cold powder, the peaceful and subtle log, The settling orange sun, and the flying machines. Finally saying good by to nature herself, ...
