white

stillness

except the crunch under my feet

white

surrounded by tall skeletons

dusted

white

stretched out tongue

tip

cold

white

silence

only golden when its absent

white

angels no one will see

except me

and then i'm free

walking in minnesota, on the farm was glorious. i just thought of this tonight while i listened to a man tell stories of his solitude, riding across country, across his deserts of life, immersed only in the thoughts of his own as the noise around had stopped and the noise inside began. i related, and remembered the white walks of minnesota. the silence, only broken by the crunch under my feet that i love so much. what i really wanted was to scream, as loud as i could, to let out some of the steam inside of me. but instead i allowed the silence to seep in. even the view mirrored silence as it was as white as silence feels to me. i allowed imagination, to experience the pure delight of falling down into the snow to make an angel for no one but myself. soaking in the act of just breathing as i lay there, feeling the snowflakes touch my warmed face, freedom. i walked into those tall trees, so tall, covered with dust of white, sparkling. on close look i could see the flakes piled delicately, one on another. space in between. i took delight in licking the dust of the branches with the tip of my tongue. just the tip, letting the flakes melt and wondering if anyone was watching my curiosity in motion. no need to perform, no one is watching, just be free...to lick white dust off branches if your heart desires...free.