A Step Towards Winter
A STEP TOWARDS WINTER.
I look into the mirror’s depthless space
and note the wrinkles that, somehow have grown
into something I wish I didn’t own.
The knife of age has cut into my face.
The greys within my hair have moved apace
from where the bird of youth had lightly flown
to make a nest of life that it could own.
I wish it hadn’t sprinted in that race.
Yet – later, standing on a wind scarred rock
that jutted from the fields of pristine snow.
Where rivers etched like lines upon a page.
I came to see the beauty, not the shock,
of time’s tattoo upon a constant flow
of seasons, that lack colour in their age.
Photo (c) Ian Whiteley (Bannf National Park 2009)