the heron stalks the threshold between garden and lake. four leaves on the cherry tree. damp limp tokens of fertile days. the birch bare now but for a charm. it flies still. forever leaward from the prevailing wind. i paint a feather black for sorrow. hang this from my hands. coiled with ribbons of horse mane. i slumber. the tree roots pulse like womb blood. overspilling tapestries of snow. mistral. bone.
the velvet almanac entry 1
the distant tide could only be dreamed when the dark bestarred sky pulsed over the cold december moor. when the fog of snow covers the land and the bright sun rises steam over the white landscape. it smells of stream, heron, carp. of ice to come. the copper blood of soil. here i am, lightly flung against the wind. skin returns after a fall. the sea too finds it’s way back again. the velvet almanac entry 2
the outline of the silver mare still beats across the valley. tracks of ice. black hoops of myth. water changes matter. hornbeams spindle against the dim light. a solitary hawthorn berry, a statue of warmth passing into memory. leaves crisp and fall. the buzzard watches us on the trail. so many loves and deaths rehearsed from this arcing story. who are we, a horse giving us life. solace? a heron mask. a recursion? the velvet almanac entry 3
thank you for reading my winter fragments. the landscape is telling me so many stories.
until next week
with hearthstone in hand
Jai Michelle
An observation of winter full of awe and feeling, thank you Jai 💖💖
What an amazing winter ❄️ feeling you created with your beautiful words and foto’s 💙💙💙