Frozen Moments

Crystal clear sky.

Sparkling white blanket, spread over a sleepless night.

The group huddled around the morning bonfire, thermos in gloved hand, breath in the light and crispy morning breeze.

The chatter playful, as the ground gently wakes. Hard as a rock, even the ground moves by eleven.

A sac full of saplings, shovel in hand, a new row is planted in the rise of the day. Up and down hills of soft melting snow, now broken in rows of small sapling shows.

Rows of potential in the magic of the moment.

Small survivors of winters wane, each with a tale of strength and resilience etched in the grain. Stories to be told to the younger generation, should each new sprout grow into a forest of time.

Even the white blanket will dissolve in time. Temporal as the night and the day. It will come, but it will not stay, just for a while.

It is the way it has always been.

‘Not now though’ thought the snow, ‘I'm here and I'm not going to go’.

‘The arrogance’ said the tree, ‘the sun is stronger than thee’.

A roo hopped on through, prints deeply engraved. A trace through time, drawing through air, through snow, through watery crystals in a temporal world.

The ever-changing, cyclical, and sensual.

A thud and crack breaks the peace in an instant. A flutter of wings, a soft spray of white, glittery, frozen diamonds in the rough.

Frozen moments.