No more does it wander rash through the woods,
but is beginning to settle. It’s not spring, she’s not stirred
from sleep, no. It’s approaching winter;
she’s wrapping in her weariness
ready to hibernate, but before she dens down
she staggers south towards the stream
where she spills a secret,
where she sheds something of herself,
where swaying in the wind, water washing her,
she stands regal,
that black body of hair
From the sky
snow begins to swim,
the first flakes of the season

Poem’s print publication is forthcoming in the 2011-2012 winter issue of Avocet, a Journal of Nature Poems. Reprinted here with permission.

Through the 3rd Eye was supported in its inception by the Grand Rapids Humanities Council and is currently made possible by continued volunteer effort and private support. Copyright 2013.