The harbinger of winter never announces itself
it rearranges the world without a sound
erasing the colours with its’ pale frost
while we are peacefully sleeping
and when we awaken, the light feels distant
the sky pale and apologetic
everything suddenly silenced
trees stand, just skeletons of themselves
completely stripped of adornment
but they have the wisdom of endurance
they can wait without watching the clock
as the frost on the windows
quietly etches their fragile maps to nowhere
I feel the loss and the narrowing of needs
for there is grief here
flowing slowly through nature’s veins
the deep ache of what is lost
deeper that we can conceive
but this stillness is not erasure
for beneath the frost, life still thrives
and the harbinger of spring
is quietly waiting in the wings
©Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 