Today I sit on frozen rock
waiting
watching
the white lake of snow spread out
wings gently beneath my feet.
Slowly the cold seeps in. It
keeps me awake. Alive enough to witness
what life would subtly concede.
Today the white arms of winter
hold up the horizon - the world is open,
inviting, free.
This is a window. One of the edges
I am drawn to.
At the edge there is wilderness
and release
the death of concern.
Standing upon this border
one knows at once home's solace
and adventure's beckoning.
A birds eye view of paradox
reality.
Here I breathe,
begin to be.
I am standing here!
It is the edge of my being!
and I am a tree - rooted -
but branches dip, rise, sway
as potent silver winds break
through leaves -
with unrestrained embrace.
It is baptism. It is seasons.
It is what life would cry given
tongue to speak.
But we are pioneers
to whom the task belongs
to discover and believe.
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