Happy Wanderer

Winter- the voice yet frozen harp.
The tongue wrapped cold around bare bones.
Winter is here
Winter is near.
Winter- emptied to dancing silhouettes on slippery fences, yet waiting...
and the wind all dressed in peppery crisp yet tendrils of lonely fringing...
seem to get in the way, seem to turn, turn to claws and bites and scorn.
Winter is near

Winter is here.
And nevertheless there's the shyness
comes out now
in the spaces
left open - sparse, yet less busy.
The happy wanderer awake...
Because winter is here
Winter is here!
Wandering, yet rooted in home
climbing and dancing round arches
and over walls towards
cloudy cushions of clear tears
into bright colour.