"Not a Desolation"
Winter is the inward season,
not a desolation but a gestation.
Filled with seeds, the earth waits
while the sky knits baby blankets of snow.
Frost cracks spiderweb their way
over the frozen landscape like stretch marks.
Does carry fawns in heavy bellies,
waiting for the first green leaves to appear.
Even though it may seem barren,
winter is pregnant with spring.