To wake up to winter silence in a mountain cabin means yet a day of plans fulfilled. The whistle of wind in the chimney would have meant a day of waiting or making hard decisions to change the plans. On this silent morning we prepare a simple meal of oats and milk before we pack and leave. We rest our eyes in white and follow the marks of the terrain, We let the muscles do the work while our thoughts wander anywhere and nowhere. This is a not a day for terse syllables. It is a day with another cabin waiting for us at dusk.
the lonesome snowflake
only lasts the briefest moment —
melting on my skin
A haibun for Toni at toads