I walk through the woods seeking wisdom and solace,
on a quest for the answers my heart yearns for.
Twenty-four hours ago, the sun beat down warmly on the earth,
a rapid infusion of bliss on a short day,
while a breeze teased the lingering leaves, the blades of grass.
Overnight, a heavy blanket of snow draped itself over everything.
The trees remain steadfast, holding this fresh, unexpected weight,
boughs dipped low.
The wind whips into a frenzy, stubborn snow ascending
in a rush from the ground
in icy waves that leap and twirl in a strange ballet,
cloaking the airstreams until nothing else is visible.
Airborne shards pepper the windowpanes of the shelter I’ve left behind.
I hear the sharp shots at my back and I wonder if they’ll resist cracking.
The trees are groaning, their voices escaping, even as they bend and sway,
with their sticky white burden, the air like a plow, unrelenting.
I see a branch on the ground now and again.
Dead pieces that have fallen away. Weak parts released.
Even while the strong bodies continue their brave dance.
The wisdom of the trees.