Night turns to milder vistas borne on a moon suspended in depth of winter. Already to wane, she fills the foggy skies with a gentle sigh that will herald clearer starlit skies of fortune. In the cold I look toward the milky skies that hold the moon and I feel the approaching spring and know there is hope and wonder in the world.
For the moon often cries and sometimes I touch her tears as they run along the edge of the world into the sea. Despite the tragedies, the world rises ever toward new days even though we cannot see them yet and the cold feels like a benison now, for it means that there shall be nights beneath feathered layers and that…at least till spring we shall need each other to keep warm