There’s a biting cold in the air and it attacks my fingers,
But I put on gloves and it seems to calm itself down,
Lightly pecking at my exposed face, only, and turning it blush red.
I can feel the wind ripping at me, but I do not falter
I am the snow that whips around me,
The trees that stand before me
The mountain that my feet bore into
And I cannot be knocked down.

There’s a bright blue sky up above
And the puffy white clouds match the fresh snow on the ground.
There’s piles of it, everywhere,
And the wind blows it in drifts so the land has mountains on top of mountains
That will disappear in but a gust of wind.
The trees barely sway, even though the wind whips,
Even though we are on the top of a mountain where nature is most exposed
They stand tall, sway only when it suits them to sway
They’ve been here for too long to be moved by the whims of young winter breezes.

It smells like winter.
There’s no other way to describe it,
My entire nose slightly freezes, and with every breath the cold jets up higher
There’s tree bark and fresh snow and pine needles
But together all I see when I close my eyes is mountains, everywhere,
Covered in snow, feet of it, white as far as the eye can see.

There’s this silence to the world, too,
Even though the wind is screaming and the snow is blowing
Nature is muted in its brilliant sounds
And it somehow makes it more brilliant than ever.
I find that I am at peace in the way that I feel when I sit under the stars at night
Except maybe more-so, because there’s nothing ponderous about the snow today
It just exists, and is beautiful, and my heart swells with content
I’m not forced to try and understand the universe
Because the blue hue of the sky and the sun that reflects harshly on the white world all around me
Lets me pretend that there is nothing but me and the mountains in all the universe.

I want to sit here forever, I think
Even though I will encounter an icy death this way.
It doesn’t seem like such a bad way to go,
Responsibilities carried away by the wind and covered in mounds of snow,
My heart finally at rest from its constant heavy beating
Instead pounding in time with the rustle of the leaves.
My head is clear, that’s all I know
That’s all I ever have to know.
There is nothing else, nothing ever
I am light
So light I could fly
And something about the snow all around me
The forest of trees before me,
I think I might try.

still, the loss sustains these gaping mouths,
we tire, while you remind me
of the tastes of freedom,
of the colours of lodgepole pines rooted in dry,
eastern soil: bitter
and clear.

now begins the sensory portion of this practice, create a picture in your head of each item listed within the series

pine tree

breathe in
we are decorating the 3 foot tree we rescused from a goodwill store near our home
breathe out
some of the lights don't work but it never bothered you much, you just loved that it was ours
breathe in
we keep the lights on because you like the shadows they make on the walls at night
breathe out
I stay awake all night looking at the broken lights
breathe in
you find a way to fix the lights but it is only temporary and soon they fade
breathe out
i don't know how or why but I can feel the lights become dimmer each day
breathe in
you say the dim lights give good contrast to the room
breathe out
I hate those ******* lights
breathe in
breathe out

I don't hear any other words from the instructor
For the remainder of the practice I am in our bed, staring at the broken lights

this now concludes this session begin to return your breath to it's natural state and  reconnect with the scene around you

They talk about their relationship problems
Like it's nothing.

My body is a pine tree,
I am more plant than I am me.
I am driven to read, driven to love,
They are driven to ****.
My body is a book,
My binding never shook,
Pages never read,
So many words running through my head,
And all they want to do is touch.
All they do is touch too much
And I a made for talking and to look,
They are stories, and I am but a book.

My body is asexual,
Is a plant and an amoeba and
I do not exist.
They want me to look for more than
A person to trust, to hold hands with.
I look for love where they seek lust,
And they never meant for that to be real.

They talk about their relationships like it's nothing
Because it is,
To them.
It is empty.

Nervous that way I take peanut butter from the jar
where blinking and licking overlap
messily and focus is the last thing on
my mind.

There, just there scooped
is where the thought
returns.

No high flying; no explanation
just back, and the jar gets
put on the shelf of the
cupboard
of wood, the oldest part of the house,
and I cannot recall to write it the smell of
peanuts jarred and ant poison and southern
yellow
pine.