Polar clouds arrive to announce the ascendance
of winter’s hegemony. Fat flakes frost any dreams
of hanging onto summer; the grey shift of light slides,
sky constricts, meadows and fields are lost as sweeps
of taupe, beige, straw assume stoles of plain white
and fashion is mute.
A new beauty reigns. Scrubbed, shorn fields dust with snow,
as an artist adds a white stroke to denote light on a brilliant day.
Each flake conceals and outlines what lies beneath, the balance—
discovered moment — when that which is and that which will not
strain against each other and the invisible pours through.
Peterborough Poets 