March is Still

In the forest, wooden trunks, and structures

stark in sunlight, stand tall in their multitude.

Sentinels ready to file into Spring,

without snow.

Inside, the cawing of crows, outside.

The ticking of the clock, on the mantel.

Shapes of sound, poured into silence

of time and space.

Lush earthy aroma of cinders in the chimney

permeate the air.

February, gone away,

March is still.

GRB ~ TiffanyCreek