Tuesday, 11 September 2012

White Compact

We left the security of warm houses, convenient towns.
The car led us to a lane where we had, the ice making the wheels spin,
to take it easy. We descended a hill that had more curves than a mirrored slide.
Who was driving? Doesn't matter. The entrance to a farm,
the farmer in the yard with a long beard like a wizard.
He even held a staff-like stick.
The first flakes of snow whirling about him.
The farm track, white compact. And out of nowhere,
the barn owl, a ghost, floated just above the white compact.
The eerie silence, the world stopping.
White and compact, mirrors of ice,
the first snow flakes whirling about us.


  1. I like the owl with its wings and the snow. Similar. I never thought of this before.

    1. It was a breath-taking moment. I've always remembered it.

      Thanks for the comment.



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