A Bavarian Village
Rooftops stitched with snow
Lean against a sky of cobalt and ash
Alleys fold into themselves
Cobblestones polished by countless steps
Windows shuttered holding stories like quiet breath
Smoke drifts from chimneys
And lingers in the crisp mountain air
Curling around timbered walls
That lean close protective patient
Gingerbread scents rise from small cafés
Mixing with the scent of pine and frost
Mountains cradle the town
Their shadowed shoulders pressing close
Time stretching around rooftops and river bends
Slow crooked and still alive
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