In Praise of Winter

by Damon Harper

morning, dawn of anticipation.
has it come?
bucket of water left out overnight --
my indicator --
solid now on top,
brittle like a head of hair spray.
underneath still liquid,
pine needles stuck in limbo
between water and ice.

later.
snowballs fell this summer
from grandma’s tree next door
and now they’re falling again.
phantom blossoms
minuscule;
lemmings of the sky
diving off edges of clouds
to plunge to earth and drown
in the bodies of those who went before.
until one survives.

at night,
the constellations above
promise alien worlds,
a haven for the creatures
of my imagination.
lemmings’ bodies piled up underfoot
drag at slogging boots;
the cat, white on white in grey,
bats the ground and chases reanimated rodents
down
the hill.

noon the next day,
blinking long-sleep from gummy eyes,
pupils shrink to compensate
for glaring white.
sky master burns
dissolving all in its ferocious glare.
the white ground melts,
runs,
but always more white is exposed.
cold at feet battles heat
from above.

night again,
stepping out the door
and sliding down the hill
where ’dipity chased his white catnip.
the ground has turned its enemy’s
attack to benefit;
preparing for battle with glazed armour,
reflecting the sky’s angry glare
back into its bright cold distant eye.

i stand in limbo
between ice and air,
detached and muffled,
wrapped in cloth woven of cold.
behind me the house,
my cave for hibernating
toasted and buttered,
disappears in white.
frozen lemmings under the eaves
hold each other’s hands

forming a pillar, trying to reach the ground.

and the world is in limbo,
between autumn and spring,
wrapped in cloth
woven of Winter.

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