Up here, in winter-land, crispness dries on God’s lips, the crinkle of mountain tops, the jagged edges of ice and snow, where even Sun softens its gaze, grown gentle by the beauty where I sit and find, a song – whispered on the breeze, it cools my earlobes, freezes my thoughts, and frees my mind.  Cold numbs my finger tips and brings sparks into my lungs, redirects the force of focus to the inside, outside, in.  It’s a pleasure to notice myself grown colder, as Nature’s kiss travels from my bum to my toes to the tip of my nose, even to my very own eyes.  Here, I find, body melts into the sky, so thin and close.  Earth, Gaia, warns me not to stay too long for beauty will be there tomorrow, too, even if I am not there to see it, and, anyway, darling, this moment is full.  She cures me of my sense of lack, my need to save and grasp, and then she slips a key into my pocket, or a photograph, of that place in the sky in the snow in my soul where I come home.