There’s something in the atmosphere
Something raw and bleak
The air blows eastward
And I am still
Beneath the evening moon
Amongst the reflective snow
Faint sounds of singers
Natives of this land
Drift from the west
An odor of wetness
And the scent of green
Linger in the air
I bid the wind a chillful welcome
As I stand stark and bare
Under the giant that leans above me
That beastly giant
Who comforts me
With limbs of fir and bark
That solitary forest embraces me
While I remain standing

By Sarah Hulin