In February


I must admit that sometimes——

    When Winter walking nods to me
    from across the road,
    his frigid breath streaming
    from beneath his low hat,

    When across the mountains
    the alpine forests loom
    in dark green waiting
    for the falling night,

    When all sounds have fled
    but the crunch and solitude
    of snow

——my favorite part of sunset
is the grey mist
that settles in its passing,
that crepuscular senesence
I once so despised.