Color in Winter — A Poem

Without,

the birds flit and huddle

amongst silvered branches;

squirrels are plushly bundled

against the dipping cold;

thickened shadows stretch

and recline,

obedient to the sun’s lowered,

glancing angle —

All is blanched of color,

rinsed in flinty tones.

But within these walls

for a moment —

for a breath —

the ceiling is stroked with color;

a smooth field of white strung

with jeweled notes

as narrow rays strike

that small drop of faceted glass,

and pass

through myriad polished faces —

Bending,

refracting,

brightening.

 

 

— C.Birde, 1/16

 

InstagramCapture_da207742-fc22-49a1-81a8-971be04b49d9.jpg

“Prism Light” — C.Birde, 12/15

 

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