It is easy to forget under the raw force of winter,
The delicate pieces that land in the shadow of the storms.
Wind-sculpted snow, small crystals rising above the ice-
Brief, perfect images that our passage transmutes,
Strips of delicacy and shape.
By enjoying the beauty,
We seed its destruction,
But our steps create our own mark
On the shifting landscape.
We cannot return those moments we destroy.
It is an exchange to leave our own signs of passage,
To leave pieces of ourselves as payment,
Some forces are crafted with a breath of wind, some with a heavy tread
It’s always important to remember what we destroy in our passage.