Thursday, January 21, 2010

Brittle Waters




My breath is knife sharp.
The air is ice.
The forest is quiet,
except for the cold splash of water
pushed by latent
melting snow.
Brown-red leaves
cling in scooped layers
like rose petals 
against the broken stones
lodged in the river,
unwilling to finish
the journey.
Winter holds fast
keeping us all
quiet, in stasis and ever
watchful
for tender spring.


12 comments:

  1. Sh....let's enjoy this.

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  2. Hi There, Beautiful picture.... That looks like a tiny waterfall!!!! I'd love to hear the trickle of water as the snow continues to melt.

    Hugs,
    Betsy

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  3. Hard to imagine such beauty in this heat.

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  4. splendid - imagery and image!

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  5. That is magnificent: the post in total, picture and poem. I really enjoyed them both.

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  6. The photo and the poetry are beautifully matched and highly evocative. Excellent job Tabor!

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  7. Lovely, Tabor -just how cold would it have to get before your creative juices get too cold to flow?

    Annie at the Transplantable Rose

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  8. lovely verse. i am ready for spring though. smiles.

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  9. Beautiful photo and poem. They make me feel like I was there.

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  10. You never cease to amaze me with your creative capacity for words! Such clever and descriptive words ...and phrases!
    Beautifully illustrated with your camera too.
    I'm smiling at Annie's comment :)

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Glad to hear from you once again. I really like these visits. Come sit on this log and tell me what you are thinking.