Tied with ribbons
It came from the north that day,
singing, and swinging down the hill
where berried hedges rattled, and chattered
of dreams parceled in frost,
and bound with ribbons of silvered stars.
I heard it in the run of the river,
and the dippers whispering song.
I could sense it below my feet
as a pearly mist wove threads
of hope through branches, dusted white.
I could feel in my bones,
the careful crafting of winter,
while somewhere amidst the river’s
race and surge, an emerging
pattern fluttered, stretching
emotion, deepening closeness.
Christmas blew in from the north that day,
singing, and swinging down the hill...
Pim Claridge