Rest of Winter

Grey and sullen skies portend the rest of winter
stretching out like a vista into the vast, unwelcome, unknown.
Expectations and dreams temporarily dormant,
I walk the back roads, searching for what is real.

Indoors, hope sometimes feels elusive
and I venture out, yearning for certainty in the ordinariness of life in the woods. 
Rhythms of survival, established long ago,
wind their way through the trees above
and fallen leaves below. 

Lost in thought, the chorus gradually creeps into my conciousness.
Robin voices float through the surrounding mist, along with the softer whistling of cedar waxwings
feeding on holly and bittersweet.
Chickadees and titmice flit from branch to branch,
providing the percussion section, 
while a solitary hermit thrush pauses its ground foraging,
soberly considering my presence. 

Promise is present at my feet.
Moss grows in extravagant abundance when all else seems extinguished.
and fungi and lichen are undaunted by what I consider to be harsh conditions.
Acorns, sweet gum balls and ash seeds welcome the cold
they need to germinate in the coming spring.
All is as it should be here...
No resistance, no wasted energy eulogizing what isn't,
Adapting to what is, the key to survival.
The rest of winter.