The bend of a bird’s
wing seemed so sharp,
the guttural scrape
of the snowplow
clearing the road,
but it couldn’t keep up
with the sky
and its act of forgetting,
these relentless
rounded edges,
forgiving all,
and always–
The last snow walk before
the drive back
it was blowing down,
so that the path erased
itself, became new
with every step
and it was hard to return,
to leave
the banks that softened
hard lines, made
bridges over gaps—
sealing them, saying
this is now new,
all of it, what was
is now untouched, a promise
to keep, or to break
OPTIONAL POETRY 
Your imagery and rhythm are fantastic. Really liked reading this
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Thank you!
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I love how vital and ‘right’ graveyards look in snow. They don’t seem deathly then. 🙂 You’ve preserved the sound of cold here. ~ P ~
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quiet as the grave? 🙂
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More like, ‘noble’ and ‘timeless’ – atavistic. Loving the new bird addition, is it a cormorant? x
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This is one of my favorites that you’ve written so far. I love the sense of hope and a fresh start. Perfect for the New Year.
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Thank you, Claire!
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