The Bitch

Silence, golden silence, how its brilliance radiates through the salmon tinted shadows of the valley floor.
With snow melting subtlety each whisper of wind washes a fresh sheet of pine needles across the path most sought after.

Cold air cascades over the hills through the trees, an avalanche of bitterness swallowing alive all the warmth of life leaving desolation and isolation in its wake.

Once gentle and soft moving a stream lays choked and littered by the refuse and debris of her malice,
the unrelenting chill of a heartless age.
Unbending and without remorse she conceals the soul of the sun beneath her bosom of selfeshness, darkness and ice being her world.

Trees stand ghostlike overseers of seasons past.
Hopes for tomorrow rest on the narrow leafless branches of the future.
Buried beneath cold hearted vengeance fingers break through the crust like surface, the rays of a hidden sun warms my heart.