All in a Winter's Night
Between the howls of the wind,
there is a stillness,
a pause that speaks
in a voice too soft for the hurried ear.
The world contracts,
folding into itself beneath the weight of frost,
and in that moment,
I learn the language of waiting.
Tree branches rattle like old thoughts
scraping against the edges of sleep,
each creak a reminder
that even the barest things hold their ground.
They do not break,
only bend,
offering their silence
as proof of endurance.
The full moon spills its knowing
across the frozen earth,
silver light carving paths
where footsteps hesitate.
In its glow,
I see the shape of my own solitude,
a quiet lesson in reflection,
a gentle hand
guiding me beyond the dark.
All in a winter’s night,
I find wisdom
not in the storm,
but in the space it leaves behind.
Copyright © Don Iannone | Year Posted 2025
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