Carved into place.
Rigid is the ice on the trees,
stiff as the frigid breath in the air
a color akin to softness,
like the blue velvet she wore.
The kind of numbing cold that
between the frosty teeth,
inside of our chapped mouths,
forms crystallized rime.
Surfacing from beneath the sunlight,
through the skeletal branches,
we see it now begins to thaw out,
life exhaling warm air onto an unmoving carcass.
Frozen, the death lingers for a little while,
until the ice becomes rain,
and rejuvenated light peaks through the bark.
What is blocking our tunnel vision,
now crumbles into ash above our heads.
It becomes tangled in our dampened air,
and the ice we walk across crackles beneath our toes.
Broken into tiny eggshells,
the red seeps through our splintered skin, staining the ground.
As she wakes up, we see without a doubt now,
the fault in our beloved mother nature,
who relapses this time of year in a white disguise,
shivering bare to a point of scaly film.
But with the air becoming thicker,
the world eventually retires back into place.
Sleep seems more than a silly game this time of year.
Photographer: Gina Lee, ’15 || Instant Film || Online Features
Writer: Danielle Zarachowicz, ’15 || Online Content Staff