Winter Walk

The cold sun drew each line crisply, 

dead grass in waves on the ground,

skeleton forest at the field edge,

the stark patterns of winter.

Day’s blue had leached from the sky,

summer’s color long gone from the earth.

With dusk the lines dissolved.

The world a sea of tiny dots,

while color spread on the western sky still crisp with light.

Perhaps my feet would sink through the grass,

the melting world wash over me,

the ground an illusion, magic.

Yet each step found firm footing,

carried me back, carried me home.

Home, warm and bright, ordinary.

©2019 Maria Amodei