The Coming of the Light

photo by the Elk Valley Bear Aware program

The dark hunkers down over the north west,

settling around the ears of

mountain and  forest,

river and swamp,
raccoon and rabbit,

probing  arctic fingers

across the misting field,

horse blowing steam 

over the icy barn bucket.

The gray sky lowers

like a billowing skirt,

till it is

scarcely above our heads,

oppressive and laden

with unspent snow,

erasing all memory

of a horizon.

As the day shortens, 

from morning coffee

to afternoon tea,

night to night flits past -

with just a cameo appearance

made by Day.

The trees, 

draped in their mist-shawls

are waiting.

Bear, curled into the root-bowl

of grandfather cedar,

is dreaming of warmer days,

of fish and berry.

Wolf, fleet, shimmering, stealthy,

seeks his supper in a world

gone silent, still
and sleeping. 

All chilly beings huddle 

into their nests

and coats and blankets,

fix their eyes upon the sky

with patient hope,

as expectant as chickens.

All is suspended, waiting,

through moments frozen in time.

We are, all of us, 

- tree and bear, 

wolf and pond and withering vine  -

just waiting for

the Coming of the Light.

Mary is tending bar today over at dVerse Poets Pub, where her prompt is: the Light. Do check out some of the other links for this prompt, as there are always wonderful responses at dVerse.