And now
for a time
all activities
to avoid feeling
will cease.

This, will
be a time,
when even silence
may be felt
in self and cell.

Wintertime our
companion now,
offers stillness
of long slow nights,
nothing to be done.

Being breathed,
may we remember
a time when
movement arrived
un-distilled.

Time, when earth
and her consorts
informed
work and play
of all creatures.

When
un-armored and
un-armed bodies
knew every sensation
in a grain of sand.

Among waves and boulders
feathered and ferned,
finned, fleshed
and furry,
a ferocious feast of experience.

For surely, these are holy days.