Midwinter

Hoarfrost lies thick on the five pines.
They stand like heads of cauliflower
Pinned on long orange poles,
Or like sticks that a child
Has put in the ground and decorated
With coral mosses
Gathered from the summer woods.
The sun is setting,
Felling this still forest.
Jagged silhouettes emerge in the place of trees
And the shadows fall back into night
As the glazed needles begin to shine
With the light of the ancient winter sky.
The frost clothes these boughs
In the most intricate of blouses
But it cannot veil the tender color
That will well up irresistibly from the ground
In green song
When the earth—
Like a waking eye—
Turns slowly toward the sun.

But today it is midwinter
And hoarfrost lies thick on trunk and bow.
Branches bend heavy with winter
And the dense air of long nights.
The world will soon slumber.
All eyes turn away,
From the fading glow of green beneath white,
From the approaching radiance
Of this still, silver night.


—Eric Nelson