The Colors of the North

I worship the blue and gray mountains of winter,

snowy white veins crawling down the crevices.

If an avalanche were to sweep me up

I’d let myself go.

It’d be a good way to go.

The icy touch is a reminder of a warm caress soon to follow

when snow pours from the mountains in waterfalls

and muddy browns and forest greens take over.

Crystal clear skies reveal the untainted atmosphere

of the North.

I never want to leave.

In the dark months a brilliant blaze of heavenly fire

casts its wingspan across the skies.

Pink and green and blue bleeds into the night

as claws drag through it like

paint drops on water.

When it all vanishes in the years to come,

I’ll follow it into faded reality.