Just wandering, going outside and let the feet go wherever feet go given the choice with open eyes caressing the nocturne landscape until we dissolve into the night like another part of it...wandering.

Jack Frost came on the last warmth night
strewing diamonds all over the white snow
like he suddenly was a Fabergé’s jeweler
decorating with precious stones our world,
hanging icicles from the ears of pine trees
and fiery rubies from a sundown afterglow.

Cracking sounds under our feet we can hear,
the wind in our face appears to be very cold,
as tucked inside its nest a bird is complaining
that there is freezing inside the tree’s crown,
and the face of a squirrel appear just a second
curiously looking at us from its lair’s hole.

An old ten antlers buck slowly proudly went
by the forest outer line, immerse in a frosty fog,
perhaps just passing through from another times
like the ethereal presence of a ever benign ghost,
dissolving inside in a breathtaking few second
like it was never there, just a mirage in the cold.

Winter, freezing solid everything it touches,
I wondered then if the tears in my eyes would…
like ice pearls that hang from little birds feathers
or drops of rain becoming harder as they fall;
I wondered also if pain can shudder in winter
and if regrets can burn with the fireplace’s logs.

Stopping, I looked up into the pristine skies and
asked the night about then, to tell me how it was,
when men were following a star to Bethlehem…
a star that we now regretfully we have no more,
an handful of hay filling a crib that was holding
the God’s precious wish to man, His beloved Son.