down to grass flattened
by the weight of my very shoes.
Trees are chopped, truncated, blunt
like that crazy brainstorming
I used to do,
now deafened.
All is bleak until I clear my head
and note the translucence of melting snow
and ponder how white is white
if you can see through it
like an icy waterfall of doubt.
My eyes detect a movement
of grasses blowing
like a thousand hands clapping.
In this frozen abyss they prosper
taking center stage on a field of white
making noise with their movement
like fans cheering or monks gyrating
in praise to the Lord.
They call to me and whisper,
"Encore!"
Back to real life, inspired.
Photo and Poem, Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
