I laid outside atop the snow,
A feat that I haven't tried
Since life's true colors showed.
The frost numbed my body,
I'm sure red flushed into my cheeks;
I stared speculatively at the sky,
My eyes searched and seeked.
I wanted to understand the beauty,
That nature offers so readily, the solace,
That it blankets us in even on cold days;
I wanted to understand beauty that is flawless.
My tired eyes embraced small, soaring figures
That coursed through the air with grace;
Content to go their own paths,
Not engaged in a petty race.
The figures were falcons,
That spiraled and sailed on wind above me,
Probably heading south,
For warmth to set them free.
But in that moment I compared them
To man-produced ashes;
Gray soot that courses through the air
Dashes, in varying directions,
As fire burns.
In that moment, the birds drifted through the air
So aimlessly, like the ashes do,
Wherever they flew.
Nature itself could be ashes,
If people continue on this path;
This destruction ought to incur
Some sort-of wrath.