Cutting through cold like a playfully excited Indiana doe bent on insight – a fresh wind hits my face.

Rolling hills of snow and trees extend to the horizon, where the midnight blue sky and illuminating stars induce a serene comfort that comes only upon experiencing an early winter morning.

No other animals in attendance—a stop in movement causes intense silence, a nothingness typical of the season.

Bulky winter coat is my Roman city-wall, protecting from the chilling reality that exists outside my fabricated fortress—the temperature is painfully cold, a small sacrifice for a free sensual high so early in the day.

That clean brisk air of the dark winter break of day makes breathing a delight—inhaling inspiration surrounded by slow death in nature’s dawning as the clean texturized canvas of snow prepares for Spring’s colorful paintbrush and reanimation wand.

It rests on tree branches awaiting life, making way for life, yet crumbles under the weight of my fallible foot.

Winter is the only experience that makes destruction serene, expecting that life will appear again soon—one deep inhalation as rays of winter sunlight begin to invade the horizon midnight blue no longer.

by Ryan Wilcox