Frosted Ground

Frosted Ground

Or

The One I Wrote While Waiting for the Dawn

Part three of The Winter Trilogy

Frosted ground and brittle leaves and browning world around us.

The birds song calls the coming dawn though cold wind alights old trees.

Their roots grow deep in murk and mud beneath frost’s chilling touch.

They hold them strong and hold them fast. Great strength to reach the sky.

The gold above. That vast expanse. The world of dreams and new born things.

The ground grows hard with fading green, yet still, somewhere, from sheltered perch, the birds still sing. They know somewhere is coming dawn and summer days and spring’s soft touch.

A coming time of light and warmth, of growth unfurled when all is lush.

The night is dark and cold and dead, but even so, the dawn, she comes.

The flowers bloom. The birds still sing.

And the world that was will live again.

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