06 january 2021
The leaves come alive and shake in the fog
Like birds, unable to fly away.
The feary-eyed doe stands enchanted by the log
Where a tree stood, before a mere day.
Where a tree roared with the clatter of birdsong,
There is nothing but the shaky whisper of a mountain stream.
The heart of the hills waited for too long,
Spring's return, nothing more than a dream.