No Rhythm Needed

Light bleeds gray,

crackling ice pellets

spit and bounce,

the morning reluctant,

to make its entrance.

 

No white fluffy flakes,

deep drifts

or mounds.

 

Dancing katydids,

crickets,

or mice,

against the windows,

in a rhythmless cacophony,

but there is some white,

on the ground,

important,

not sure why.

 

It holds me still,

reassuring in the primal world,

where cells regenerate,

and I can listen 

to the ice now,

no rhythm needed.

IMG_7687

 

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