A Winter's Tale

The time of growth and change is done and past. From thaw to frost activity prevailed, And change came often, often coming fast, Till finalizing Fall all toil curtailed. With wintertime’s quiescence, come at last, The old year’s final breath has been exhaled. And now all nature’s quiet, all now still, All bedding down, preparing for the chill. The other seasons garner all the praise: From sprouting Spring, through Summer’s fruiting fields, To Autumn’s vibrant hues and bracing days, Each one its own unique enchantment wields. But Winter’s coming oftentimes dismays, So cryptic are the blessings that it yields-- Yet unexpected beauty will abound In many forms both subtle and profound. Then gales gust frore as frigid flakes bespeak The wintry depths which grip both heath and grange: The rime-bound land is frozen hard, and bleak— Yet bleakness has its beauty, harsh and strange. And what seems dead or dormant soon will wreak What surely counts as nature’s deepest change: The imminence of warmth’s returning breath… The immanence of life in seeming death. For springtime’s semelparity is fate, As sure as tide or twilight, and as strict. It burgeons and it blooms, but soon or late It goes to seed and dies. The clock has ticked And knelled the midnight hour — but don’t berate The seed for its mortality -- predict Instead the miracle which will ensue: That out of silence, life is born anew.