Rush of pine scent (once upon a time),the unlicensed convictionthere ought to be another wayof sayingthis.

Be not wishing and pining but thankfully content.  For it is a short bridge between wanting and regret.'- from 'Dimpellumpzki.

How is it that there was never youuntil there wasand then all was you?

When love comes easy, forgiving is hard and forgetting even harder.

A moment of peace and silence, breathing in and out the frigid air, watching daylight seep into the forest, hearing the first chatter of distant crows, the wind sighing over the snow and through the fir and pine branches and the twittering of chickadees as they flitted in little tribes from tree to tree.

...Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night...

...And so many colorsI will have seen...The menacing greysand pine greensthe soft pink and purplesof springand summer blueand so many otherswithout you.

Wind blew snow crystals back and forth between the graves. The ancient pines creaked overhead.

The unknown grayish mystifying forest was benumbed into frost-covered cold, and the tremendous pines towering above the dark marshy soil resembled a gathering of severe mute brothers from a forbidden ancient order worshiping forgotten gods no one had ever heard of outside of the world of secret occult visions.

I wish I could wrap up the glitter star-green of this moment and hand it to you like an angel gift. Give you the heat lightning flying in jagged silence over the distant mountains. And the smell of September prairie grass and the even fainter scent of October pine now descending . . .