Poetry Corner

Be­fore Fe­bru­ary Runs Out Of Time by Mau­reen Bran­don Bold

Lancashire Life - - FEEDBACK -

In woods filled with Fe­bru­ary a bit­ing wind blows dead leaves

into an icy stream, only the oak keep­ing

ragged rem­nants to the bit­ter end. Grace­ful

branches traced on an opal sky, naked save those wrapped in ivy, some­times lean­ing to the left and the right, creak­ing as the

wind rises.

Sil­hou­ettes stark and gaunt.

Birch. Beech. Rowan. In Fe­bru­ary woods there`s

noth­ing to fear.

Even when night­dark falls

and the si­lence is tan­gi­ble, bro­ken only by the wind moan­ing. To one side

a full moon rises.

To the other side a soli­tary stag, com­ing as a sur­prise and no sur­prise. For­est dweller meets for­est vis­i­tor. Eyes gen­tle. Inquisitiv­e. Hes­i­tant. And in that mo­ment that

fleet­ing mo­ment on the very edge of those

night­dark woods and be­fore Fe­bru­ary runs out of time you hold the world in the

palm of your hands.

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