A Poet's Scripts

The Forest ~ The Winter Woods

I walk through the forest

in winter.

The snow crunches

underneath my feet.

Hibernation has taken over.

The forest is still.

Trees are painted a delicate white.

They seem as if they will crumble at a touch.

No sign of greenery:

only that white

that makes the woods seem

empty.

Blank.

But I know that despite the silence,

there is life.