Ice on the path
makes walking difficult,
you pick your way carefully,
progress is slow and awkward.
Only light seems to move through it
with ease and grace,
make joy of every turn.
We are held in a great stillness
that has been here a long time.
The glossed stones and leaves,
the iced trees, the iced trunks of fallen trees,
the rimed twigs and branches,
watch me balance my way along.
They are not moving.
They are not growing.
They are not thinking.
They invite me to join them in their work:
not hurrying,
not hurrying.
—January 26, 2018