…reaching purple faces through the drifts of snow

I rest my hands on the stone-cold winter window sill
part of the frame for the silent frozen world
I look out upon a slumbering land of flickering snows
a cool breeze gently teases the tangled strands of my hair
yet no leaves tremble upon the rapidly baring branches
or perhaps it is only the whisper that escapes your sigh
a frost like diamonds has settled on the heavy boughs
and I stand in the amethyst dawn
watching all the colours melt to one
remembering violets and mossy stones
and tangled jasmine weeping down
stones speckled with raindrops
drop by drop the rain falls, tiny pearls from heaven
I find myself missing the spirits that rule in mist and rain
I return there in my every dream, for that place is familiar
but here, even the lilies sleep under piles of winter white
I gaze at endless moon-washed forest paths
and find the beauty incomplete
then music moves among the dancing shadows
my thoughts drift with them in peaceful swirls
with a sudden change of perspective I see
a lake of silver poured out
a starry sky spilled mirror still
wherever I look, fragments of light
and if I seek, I now know, I will still find orchids
reaching purple faces through the drifts of snow
© Ann Bagnall