The Old Field Tree

Wild ice,
Snowflakes falling,
Winter nights,
Crows calling.

Bald Eagle perched above the creek,
A skein of geese floating between ice sheets.

The nights are long,
The days are cold,
The trees are bare,
The sun is bold.

December comes and December goes,
A snowflake lands upon my nose.

A crystal dripped landscape is all that I see,
The wheel of the year turns again, aging me.

December again,
Oh December, my friend,
Your crystals remind me
of a sacred geometry.

How are they so perfect?
Perhaps I’ll never know.
I’ll just keep trudging along,
Through this crystal winter snow.