A Tale of the Wild Woods: Cold world

When the last winter snow melted
Several things had changed
The tree leaves had less dew
And the tree roots hid in the sand
The skies were dark blue,
Drawing images of floating clouds
Few birds came sailing through the sky
Larks, Swallows, Parrots and Cuckoos
Danced in the clear skies
And from the mist, the Mountain stood
With her was several tree species
Which found joy from the many nutrients
That lay all around the mighty giant
Herbs and bushes grow on the fertile soil
And many fauns found solace in the quietness
Then came flying a little Bluebird
Singing loudly as she went
“Oh what a pretty green place!” She sang
“And how happy the world seem in summer!”
A burrow rat looked up to the tree branch
Where the pretty bird sat and smirked
“Do you think about the wee-aather at all?”
He asked, stressing the word- weather
“I am concerned with the beauty that surround me”
The pretty bird sang in a sweet kind voice
“The weather has always been cold, very cold
If you are unaware, the Winter witch is gone,
The sinister Cold, crazy winds, the Avalanche
With her!” She said excitedly
The rat sat thinking about her words
And couldn’t make any sense of them
“Well, I ask do you not think about the weather?”
The little bird made a move to fly away
For a huge Hawk came circling but turned in the air
“I am not interested in the weather,
It has always been cold, the world is cold
In plenty and in nothingness
In the heart and outside of it
And so in winter or in summer!”
With those words the bird flew away


A painting of a hill on the Snows plague

Paint a land where crisscrossing figures
fall before hungry happy eyes
Tell of place where the skies see seizures
without which there are no sighs

Cut the soil, cut some mud
Mold the mud into some hill
Place the hill on the cut soil
And watch a quiet town
Grow beneath the hills shelter

Cut some paper, mold a bird
Cut some thread of seeds
Give the bird life and let her
Sow the seeds upon the hills mud
And watch it all grow to a forest

Paint some white cones, cut some streams
Cut the ever falling balls of snow
Give it life, let the snow flakes plague the hill
Let the town feel the icy grip of the cold
And prepare to undo and redo this all again