pines ovenbird I ask: how do you go on without dropping every blade of green to the ground when the winter brings its ice and solitude and grief? They creak: Make your yearning into needles, sharp and dense, so you can hold what water the spring has given you through all the star flecked darkness. They sigh: dip yourself in wax to guard against the wind. They whisper: Draw air to the place of your deepest longing and let it breathe. They sing: Let the birds come to your branches at solstice, let small hungry mouths make a meal of every seed you carry, let your body be a bower for all creatures seeking shelter from the cold. This is what keeps the sap moving in your veins. Drink long and slow from the earth and feed yourself on memories until you find yourself, suddenly, held by light once again, everything warm and awake and alive. 250805 what's it to you? who go blather from