Out of Season Out of Time

On the first full snow
cover day of December
approaching the solstice
the Widow Wyile delights in the white
contours of the land
the curved banks rising from roots
to meet tree trunks
the muffling of their forks
accentuation of branch and twig
the jaunty mini mountain
on the side of an echinacea head

She thinks back over
the many openings of this
double oh double two year
year to open
she’d thought from the start
a strange and wondrous year
filled with intrigue
mystery
un-common s t r e t c h
of    t   i   m   e
peculiar behaviours being taught
that leave her spirit fraught
her mind wandering
uncharted realms
many ever darkening
            who would dare
            to literally block
            the sun from
            the world??
but others gaining
an ever expanding golden
glow of potentiality
a rapid rising
of communal good
geometry
of loving consciousness
interwoven with glimmering
gatherings of flowers
            are they maybe daylight earth-grown stars?
beaches of sand, of pebbles, of rock
      bounty of celestial stars
            beautiful light
all of which flow and merge
in gradual spontaneous
healing even as seas rise
creatures rove
and fooled forsythias bloom
in late fall

After torrential holiday rains
she perches on the cusp
closing the year
like the hawk atop the pine
outside her window
watching
            watching
what will come next
what will unravel
            what! confounded pussy willows
            popping out their pillows now?
ow ow ow!
och…
what good questions
will seed greater good
inhaling oxygenated promise
converging truths
balance made manifest
by holding hands
full smiling faces
exhaling stale and stifling
perturbation
amenability
and their resultant woes
sure only
that from now on
change is likely to be
alacritous
so she’d best ply
   nay

expedite
                   l
her   a    i     i   y
            g        t