At the Hinge of Winter
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| Photo by National Today |
At the Hinge of Winter
Winter pauses at its own hinge. The dark loosens its grip by a thumb’s width, enough for breath to steam with hope instead of warning. Snow still shoulders the fields, but it has begun to listen. Light tests the windows like a careful guest, staying a moment longer, touching wood, skin, memory.
Once, this turning was read in flame and prayer, in thresholds crossed with intention. Now it is read in fur and shadow, in the small theater of emergence and retreat. The question remains the same, only the costume has changed: are we done with endurance, or must we keep faith with cold a little longer?
Between frost and thaw, the world rehearses its next act, and we lean forward, eager, believing that signs—however humble—still speak.
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Winter holds its breath.
Day leans longer into night,
Signs trade their costumes.
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I really like the phrase ‘at the hinge of winter’, Chris, and the thought that ‘winter pauses at its own hinge’ and especially love the transition from dark to ‘flame and prayer’, as well as light testing the windows ‘like a careful guest’.
ReplyDeleteDug the whole piece, esp the 'ku (esp Line 3)!!
ReplyDeleteFantastic haibun, Chris! I like the question: are we done with endurance, or must we keep faith with cold a little longer?
ReplyDeleteNicely done!
ReplyDeleteI enjoy how you touch on the traditional and contemporary ceremonies surrounding this transitional phase of winter. An evocative write!
ReplyDeleteI love the opening line to the prose. The whole piece is wonderful to read and ponder.
ReplyDeleteI really love the lengthening of days.... (the cold and snow can stay a while)
ReplyDeleteI love your title!
ReplyDelete