Cold clouds burrow beneath the forest,
the spirits have taken cover,
peace and fruit now buried
beneath a bed of lichen,
summer’s rose too ruined to redeem,
her last scent is now a dream.
Love has been lost here too
on a wind that wandered
from wondrous to winsome
beneath a bed of burlap
that burrowed the bone
down to brittle.
Neither body no longer a bucolic bounty
in this season of saturation,
blue is in bloom though not
as calming sky or comforting wave
but icicles bending branches
into less fertile fields. Less.
Not more. No more.
The fall has been frozen.
Cold clouds burrow,
clouds burrow into the cold
beneath the forest bed,
beneath the bodies
digging in these frozen fields
for the sound of the cycle being sung
in a distant spring not yet sprung.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Damien B. Donnelly 
This was simply beautiful. That imagery.
Thank you so much, sometimes everything is so much clearer when time feels frozen even if that clearer image is not so comforting. Somewhere out there hope awaits 🤞
I totally feel you.
The clouds are out in full force. Burrowing, among other things. They do give the landscape a totally different cast. (K)
Beautiful, Damien. The world looks so different when frozen.
These lines stood out for me–it seems so timeless, but magical, too:
“Love has been lost here too
on a wind that wandered
from wondrous to winsome”
Thank you Merril. There is a certain clarity in these periods of stillness, a cold purity of how things are standing, still 🤗🤗
Yes, you are right.