Sparks and Snowflakes

Both land on my skin and
Sear this outer layer of mine.
The spark smoulders for a second and
I can smell my flesh burn
Before I feel the prick of pain.
Blood drowns the spark as
I carelessly wipe it away.
A snowflake settles on my skin
And the little bit of soot and blood smear
Across the soft hollow of my hand.
I watch the melted flake run black and red,
A tear dripping from the tiny wound.

Another snowflake, I watch it glitter,
Settled in stillness before it moves again
And gently turns, transforms to water,
A clear drop now, then another.
I’ll pick the scab off my hand, I know,
And have a little scar of pink and tender skin,
More fragile and exposed than the rest of me.
When my hot balm is pressed into the soft snow
It will cool it, strengthen it, and form another
Layer of protection, one grown from ice and fire.

©jsmorgane Nov 2017

Winter is coming

Within the farthest reach of Summer,
Stone still warm from midday slumber,
The Land inhales the last
Of the great Sun’s past heat
And holds Her breath before
She gives in and admits defeat.

With the turning of a leaf autumn is here,
Heavy with fruit and offering to freely give
The harvest of the year.
And all withdraw into the mellow mists,
Into their homes, to the beginning,
Below the earth, to sleep, to rest.

I, too, sink slowly down, thoughts turned inwards,
Tending to my dreams, tending the small flame
Against a deeper darkness, greater silence.
And I wait – for in this stillness I can feel
Winter is coming.

© jsmorgane (Nov 2011)