The Softness of Winter Relenting

So the old man told me that all of it was just a reminder;
the colours of the trees, the colour of the sky, the cycles of violence in the natural world…
just reminders we seem to need.

It seems we need to be reminded of the basics;
love, honour, the fragility of the whole thing.

And so I thought I had learned well when we sat on the hill today
In the softness of winter relenting
And I saw the mists moving in the valley,
Flitting and morphing,
Moving like they were late for a party
Or moving toward the final light
Or called by the crooked finger of some invisible hand.

And I knew:
I am, we are, like that.
Temporary and graceful
But mostly temporary.

I get it.

gh

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