I walked a snowy street, quietly as the falling snow, a snow that melted under foot, not one that crunched - compacting. Everything was deadened by that not-so-cold snow, a snow that swallowed sound, a snow that would have shunned light -- had there been any to shun. But it was night, and I was walking in the snow.
-To slacken on the back of spastic release – lulled by discordant heartbeats,
while feeling that they — and all — are in perfect accord
-To drift into slumber with no urgency and to awaken noncommittally,
sinking ever deeper into mattress and mind
-To love the snow for its beauty
as much as for its lack of reach
The winter skies are drifting slowly in,
and soon the snow will begin to amass —
the powder settling so scant and thin,
accruing between blades of withered grass.
How many times will skies sputter, thusly
without it piling up or drifting deep?
Just coating soil like the world went dusty —
not snow one shovels but the kind one sweeps.
A child’s and an adult’s prayers differ.
While grown-ups are content to prolong Fall,
kids wish that winter will get here quicker —
but all wish Christmas snow will come to call.
“And when will snow liven our bleak doorstep?”
A question I once asked, but now forget.
The beauty of mountains is that they show so many faces in such little space. We were on a sunny mountainside topped with tufts of dry grass. Then we crossed over a saddle-point on a ridgeline, and this was the new view.
I took these five years ago… how time flies. But, tis the season.
This has been one of the most popular pics on my photoblog as of late.
Normafa overlooks Budapest from atop of the hill. On this day the hilltop was dusted while there was not a trace of snow in Budapest.
The aforementioned dusting of snow written over by long shadows of winter.
A solitary cross and headstone next to the trail.
It wouldn’t be Budapest in winter without a shot of one of the markets. When it’s blustery and gray outside, the warm scent of roasting nuts or baked goods bring a smile to the face.