And never fear what will be, because we all suffer from mortality. The plants rest for a season My peppermint whose leaves I dry for tea against the Winter's cold is laying down its branches until spring. My apple tree whose last fruit has fallen will not bear again until summer. The bats and bears have their Winter dormancy. This month bends, but stubbornly angrily changes reluctantly.
Trees seem gaunt and lonely.
They suddenly seem hungry, a good sign. Toward Evening, the light is kinder and departs a bit more softly. Snow has saturated skin. My lashes like branches of a willow drip down the gulley beneath my eye pieces of sky. Winter wraps itself around wrists in the north.