Mother Winter

I heard her speak again today.
Such a silent, demanding voice she has.
The breeze passes her chilling voice through the trees,
demanding attention, respect, and submission.

I listen, how I listened
Not willing to miss a breath between her words
Not wanting to miss one word of her wisdom,
guidance, affection, or correction.

No matter what words are spoken
No matter what tone or reason
I listen, I heed, I hear

This is the chilling frost of winter in my ear
Whispering cold conversations of old
Harrowing tails of those who did not heed her words
Sorrowful moments of fools in force

I listened, I heeded, I heard
And I am today, better then before
Because of Mother Winter's meditations.

Ivan Sunjackal


Penned by my hand on the 14th of Letum, in the year 491 AD.