The sky inked the ground
with its dusky black pigment,
while a sliver of silvery moonlight
struggled to illuminate all it could.
Fall wind cut through the air
like daggers signifying the bone chilling wrath of Winter.
Snow flakes parachuted to the ground in trios
congregating on the frosted earth
ready to be trod upon.
Each one unique in shape and size
they comprehended what it meant to trampled
for as they gracefully tumbled
content enlightenment gleamed within each gelid glitter.
The old owl hooted within his misty hollow
yearning for the radiance of spring,
for the serenity of sunshine,
during distant days to come.
Though in the present he must tarry
For what is summer without winter?
What is darkness in the absence of light?
What is understanding apart from ignorance?
Would that there were balance as this world
Ceaselessly spins.
The archaic owl was wisdom for he
fathomed this veracity,
As he once again reverted to his intangible fantasy.
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