Winter
that season
stark
cold hard
stripped bare
happy, hope
springs
remembered fondly
woven
created
great vines and twists of leaves
glory
sun soaked, and seduced until
the mind floats off into the sound
the wind making love with leaves
fruits hanging heavy
falling
the golden lushness
the red flames
consume the view
the lust
harvest of summer dreams
greedily
stripped bare
now, harsh wind
a leaf hangs
here or there
steadfast
stubborn clinging
to believe
winter is not bare
winter is not naked
winter is not what is
–elisabeth connelley
Elisa's Spot 