This is the part of the season I dread,
this long haul through the bleakness of it
and the cold. But an impulse strikes me
to walk in the woods, and to take with me
a willingness to be entranced. So I go,
regardless of the heavy blanket of sky.
I am but a few yards down the trail
when I find that I am, indeed, entranced,
and wandering through a living gallery
made of earth and sky, surrounded by
exquisite works at every turn, mine
for the seeing. Mine for the surrender
of my no to my yes.