Between

morning shimmers,
delicate,
mysteriously swathed
in muted wisps of
gray crystals,
caressing
forest’s rustling floor.

no sound, save
occasional
whir of bicycle tire,
or whomp of
runner’s tread,
or voice of honking
overhead.

forgotten
the dread pulse
of inner churning,
heart yearning,
seasons turning
to the bleak, dark
days of little sun.

one moment –
suspended in time.

© Julia Penner-Zook, 2015
Inspired by the magnificent photography and prose of Richard Ankers
http://richardankers.com/2015/11/02/seasonal-ghosts/