Reid@YWP

I see you, Pale Bear,
posing atop a glacier
that is sinking,
your white fur glistening in the pale sunlight of the Arctic
eyes seeing, looking, searching, 
for a way to escape.

I see you, Pale Bear, 

I saw a solitary orange-brown leaf clinging to a lonely sapling —
And was sure that it would fall —
But it hung on even as its fellow leaves descended to the forest floor —

What would it be like to float through this world,
a wisp of the wind,
a little breeze,
never staying long enough to care,
never leaving fast enough to not,
traveling but not seeing,
only blue skies, 

A warm wind blows
through blooming birch trees.
Specks of green sprinkle the barren wasteland
that winter left in its wicked wake. 

Snow slowly melts from its resting place,
drip, drip, dripping into puddles.