Night settles over the park, shadows have rolled themselves up;
the sky, a flat translucence behind cut-out branches
casts a blue light on the snow.
In the hedge, little lights glow like forgotten fireflies,
the sparrow-flock has flown, a leaping squirrel
leaves sculpted waves of white along the rail.
Now, only furtive shapes move on the white path:
runner, skier, the eager dog
pulling his master further into the black trees.
Thank you for this. I can see the winter night. It is like one of your watercolors.
Posted by: am | February 18, 2022 at 07:10 PM
Smiling and able to see the scene so well thanks to your poem and my memory of the park.
Posted by: Gretchen Hall | February 19, 2022 at 02:59 PM
That's lovely, Beth. Thank you for this moment.
Posted by: Andrea M | February 19, 2022 at 07:02 PM