Frozen Enchantment

 

Dear Friends and neighbors,
 
For many years now it has been my practice to send a winter-themed poem along with our holiday greetings.
 
Jonathan and I are quite happy to be almost (like within weeks) full-time residents of BRMC. You all are our new friends and neighbors and we couldn’t be happier.
 
It may not be surprising to find that our mountains’ winter beauty has been the subject of this year’s poem. We look forward to seeing more of you more often as we get further into 2013.
 
Happy New Year and warmest winter greetings! 
 
                                                                                 -Elaine and Jonathan Topodas-
 
 
                                                            
   Frozen Enchantment
 
Leafless branches, their frozen twigs entwined, ride the upward wind,
to tickle the sky, and flick the wispy clouds     
 
Slow with December chill, errant currents of air slide across color-streaked thrones of granite,
snooze upon slabs of bluestone, and leap across tooth-edge boulders.
Cold and silent they glide through gentle hollows in the earth finding 
direction and voice in an icy act of accidental creation
 
A crystalline song played
by a branch’s bony fingers, upon ropes of curling roots 
by lacy-edged leaves, cart-wheeling and plucking berried vines
by yellow cascades of grasses and by blue-gray sprays of fir 
brushing the floors of rolling ridges
A lullaby strummed in coldest blues
 
Mountain winds rise in a monolithic Aeolan paean to Nature’s elegance
Soaring wind-borne symphonies play the mountain opera 
with percussive assertions of ancient megalithic melodies, echoing off the rolling ridges.
 
In the season where pale mauve, dove, and pearl merge above solid earth and, 
where ochre, umber, sienna and spruce merge below gray insubstantial sky,
the near silent exhalations of winds express reverential awe at the Creator’s ineffable linear lovelineness.
 
Upon the sometimes clear, sometimes foggy air, 
sounds arrive and depart from … Eveywhere … Nowhere …
 filled with some noneness or a little someness 
and all mysteriousness
 
Here the soul finds its enclosure in the icy mystical magic of the mountains
 from boulder to pebble from firefly to hawk – the cornucopia of all creation

 

Leave a Reply