She lies down in the snow,
kissing hoar frost pinpoints of silver light.
Slides into hibernation,
shedding faces as she sleeps.
Fusion, fused, frozen,
turn, turning, turned.
She dwells in safety
in the solid of the hush. The lull.
Waiting for the return of the light,
waiting for the ache to subside,
waiting for the tears of snowmelt
A single feather floats down from the sky,
brushing her bone skull-head.
A flickering within the seed of her cerebellum
spreads—darting, synapses feed.
She stretches her head-heart out
to the world once more.
F. E. Clark lives in Scotland. She writes, paints, and takes photographs—inspired by nature in all its forms. A Pushcart, Best of the Net, and Best Small Fictions nominee, her poetry, flash-fiction, and short stories can be found in anthologies and literary magazines.
Painting (from Daily Paintings series) by F.E. Clark