Up North, by the Russian border,
It gets so cold your breath
Freezes and floats to your
Feet in a fountain of
Sparkling microsmithereens.
Sibirians call it
Whispering Stars.
I swear on my name it's a
Sight beyond description, with
Northern Lights coiling like
Mating snakes
On a sky so full of moon and
Stars it's almost alien
Above you.
Easiest peace.
The sound of Gods
Meditating.
Silence itself opens its
Quiet eyes and looks into yours
Like a living abyss you look down,
Looking back.
The purest of Existence's
Everythings.
The now cry in
Snow Crystals.
Zen in
Frozen.