after a mornings snowmelt
the next morning
dawns

Dead trees,
White snow,
Green pines,
And a long way to go.

Anxiety and Fear

Looks like you’re holding a snow globe so intricate and sweet.
Once shaken, the snow starts falling in big sheets.

For this fragile snow globe is not ever really clear.
When it’s shaken and shaken again, then comes the fear.

You can’t see inside to the beautiful scene.
You start to panic; will the view ever be clean?

You keep shaking the snow globe harder and harder, and then,
The questions and anxiety creep right on in.

Will I ever get to see into this beautiful globe?
Why is it so hard to see through the snow?

Why is it like this, what did I do this time?
I’m always ruining something I feel every time .

This perfect snow globe will never be the same.
Why does it feel like I’m going insane?

I’m a huge mess of tears and fears.
This precious snow globe doesn’t deserve to be here.

I then take a seat and set the globe down.
Upon my face, there’s such a big frown.

I’m upset with myself; what did I do?
I’ve broken something beautiful, shiny, and new.

It’s then when I look at that snow in the globe start to slow down.
It starts to settle back down to the ground.

I start to breathe slower; the tears and fear calm their war.
It is then that I realize what I have done, and all becomes clear—

that I do have some power over my anxiety and fear.

Leanne

What will become of me?
Where will i go?
When the high hill paths are closed to me,
Escape, blocked in with snow.

Shall i now live in barren tundra?
And wait for new spring thaws.
Or anticipate the thunder,
So board up all my doors.

To risk the high hill paths,
At this late time of year.
Or barricade myself in thoughts,
Squalid solitude; and fear.

See one path leads to heaven,
And one leads straight to hell.
Do you know what will become of me?
I Promise i wont tell.

Nix liquefactum est,
Venit usque in gramina.
Capulus et sugar,
Tu, me, et ver.

Like a sweet hymn of orchestra
The wind blew and the night was soft
Pearly snowflakes falling gently
into a winter land

She walks out of the house
with her gleaming eyes
Her blonde hair drifting in the wind
while the white dress clings to her
like an artic flag,
basking in the fine hour

She looks up and sees the snow falling
down her face and hands
And she searches for warmth, her arms stretched
toward the frost-bitten sky

Slowly dancing and spinning
Following her own rhythm
A silent poinsettia garden, blooming
Tracing the shape of her tender smile
That was warm in the midst of winter