I used to believe
everything died in winter
used to believe that i wanted hibernated dreamms
till life reutrned
now
on the warmside of this window pane
i find the trees to be somehow more real
naked
and yet unfraid
the leaves
recently splendid in amber and gold
have gone to ocher
and rust
the crying out on their part
was coming from me
not them
i look upon this winter scene
and my own reflection is ghosted on the window
a face not unlike my own
smiles
