Dearest love, he continued: a haiku (and a prose)

Snowland #1 - The countryside near Castagnole, Piedmont, Italy

Dearest love, soul-mate:

winter is here now so soon

frozen land in heart ~~~~~~~Often words are too many and yet too few. There is never a moment of silence in the traveler’s heart. What shall he write? To someone who really cares and knows him so well. They breathe the same words. Is there any hope ahead? For such vastness of desolation? Sometimes he braved the freezing cold and ventured into the open, perhaps looking for a view of a picture for her. He walked miles of emptiness. So bare. So void. Like a discarded master piece lacerated by some careless nonchalant hands with all its former brilliant colors wiped off leaving the tattered canvas still hanging on to its hard cold bony wooden frames. No picture today. He sighed. But he does wander where the flowers, the bees, the butterflies, the birds have gone. Is there a warm home for them? He wanders where the small insects, birds and animals live in winter. Or do they live until the end of autumn and say goodbye? He just listened to a writer-poet teacher reading a lovely audio piece downloaded a long time ago. She found out that crickets know their seasons and months. In September they come into the house. Perhaps the traveler can hear them in the stillness of the night, that they are safe after all.


 Because you have made the Lord, who is my refuge,

Even the Most High, your dwelling place,
No evil shall befall you,
Nor shall any plague come near your dwelling;
For He shall give His angels charge over you,
To keep you in all your ways.

(Psalm 91:9-11)

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