I count on distraction
From winter-fear white
Fast piling-up snows
Soul’s soles without traction…
Ah, there—my delight!
Heads’ ebony tilt, quizzical crows
Eye my quake-shaky steps…’silly pace’ slows.
Their little prints, sheer artistry
Speak crisp language of assurance
Journey’s calm philosophy:
‘Put one foot in front of the other
Yes, the next…come, let us dance
Shimmered season’s rapt poetry…
Squint too hard, you’ll miss romance’.
©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.