Sea of White

How bitter the harvest, when once we danced to the beat of summer's young winds, subtle and supple with the warm green of life in our veins? How cold and empty the cornucopia, when once we grew resplendent in the golden glow of autumn's late days and long sun shadows? How chill the celebration of winter's long dance in the deepening snow, when once we grew tall and the strong winds could bend, but not break us?

The grasses of summer may be knee deep in drifts of soft white snow, but they speak loudly of the end-game of all life, when the chill winter of time itself swallows us all in a sea of white...

Dread thoughts while walking on a windy winter's night.

Mick

Sea of White

We're Autumn's last remnant in sea of white,
Companions exposed to the frigid gale,
Rank upon rank, we courageously fight
Against winter's armies frosty and pale.
Once we were green, fresh, and supple...alive;
Later we dressed in our best harvest gold.
And though we could survive, and even thrive -
We bend and break when at last we grow old.
Dried flowers born in pages of storm,
We whisper and dance in clipper-sneezes,
With only the shreds of memories warm,
To feed the spark in the icy breezes.
With forest and glen, we've nowhere to go,
We share bitter harvests of ice and snow.

Mick McKellar
December 2007