Winter was about the shade of bruised blue and the quietest kind of yellow I’ve ever known.
There’s been power in the names and the sounds during the days of dark hours.
But the nesting was silent, and ongoing.
An observer with no one to study.
A performer out of practice and motivation.
Hibernation is a strange dreamlike time.
Where you forget and remember that while you sleep, the world keeps turning.
And when it’s over, you wake up to a time you saw come to be, but have not been a part of.
Until N O W.
welcome to the new year