As I sit at work and think of spring,
The warmer days and the hikes it will bring,
I dream of the trail and not of the cold,
Leaves on the trees, a scene to behold,
I know that day will be here, no time to lament,
Of harsh winter nights, awaitng springs soft sweet scent.
The fangs of winter,
Thought to be in the shadows,
Reawaken with
A cold cruelty, preying on
The weak and unsuspecting
“If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?”
-Percy Bysshe Shelley
Cold winter nights, fresh snow softly falling,
Thoughts of warmer days with a pack on my back,
Moving silently through the woods, boots kicking up dirt.
Newly released from winters grasp, each step a promise,
A promise of longer days and peaceful nights that bring
The mesmerizing rush of spring streams and the crack of dead
Winter limbs. As the woods open their arms and embrace each soul
As its own, we long for the simple touch of springs sweet caress.
“If the sight of the blue skies fills you with joy, if a blade of grass springing up in the fields has power to move you, if the simple things of nature have a message that you understand, rejoice, for your soul is alive.”
Don’t ask me why, but I love the way that bare trees look against the backdrop of a clear blue sky.
“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, “Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”
― Lewis Carroll
Storm King Mountain
Dunderberg Mountain
Wheelabrator Westchester
Iona Island
Bear Mt. Inn
Bear Mt.
A
Winter
Wonderland
Stands before me,
Untouched and pristine,
The soft virgin snow waits
As the flakes fall, innocent
And silent, singing a song of
Wonderment and love, asking for
Nothing but tranquility,
The scene, full of beauty,
Only to be one,
Forever lost
In the soft
White fluff,
Peace
White flakes falling fast,
Pristine wonder on broken
Limb, savor the peace,
Stillness echoing fluffy
Perfection, my heart is free
Frozen tree branches after a January nor’easter.
Icy tentacles
Reach out from a prison of
Frigid dismay and
Sway in a collective dance,
Keeping the madness at bay
Icy pellets mark
The scene of the crime with a
Frigid certainty
The Zen Hiker 