One premature turn this evening landed me in front of these tracks, red light blinking like Rudolph's nose through the snow, but no train in sight.I stopped and waited. Then the train came clacking along... and along... and along. Long enough for me to pause, take a photo, a few deep breaths, and to remember the few beautiful little things I can appreciate about winter in Indiana.
Zero Holding, by Robyn Sarah
I grow to like the bare
trees and the snow, the bones and fur
of winter. Even the greyness
of the nunneries, they are so grey,
walled all around with grey stones —
and the snow piled up on ledges
of wall and sill, those grey
planes for holding snow: this is how
it will be, months now, all so still,
sunk in itself, only the cold alive,
vibrant, like a wire — and all the
busy chimneys — their ghost-breath,
a rumour of lives warmed within,
rising, rising, and blowing away.
