Winterwood

Watch the new arrivals drift to rest
   softly, around the hemlocks,
  hiding tracks of the little ones
   among the moon shadows

The windchimes beckon the night,
   The woodfire is in the stove,
  Dusk gathers at the window
   and peace settles round the cabin

Here on this wooded hillside
   there is time to be still, Silence employs
  the darkness and cradles the mind,
   The busy thoughts of day begin to nod

What you should have done
   evaporates like a dream slipping away,
  Time and ambition lose their grasp,
   Business and traffic wane and fade

Come in, rest, and be warm,
   Listen to the sounds of evening
  as the dwellers of the deep forest 
   find their way in the snow

Here the law-weary soul
   yields to a higher governance
  and flows with an older authority,
   ruling as one, within and without

Be still and know and listen
   as your name falls away
  and the wings of winter
   frame what you are

More poetry by Les Blough