January in Frost

That morning, the world was still asleep – 

Hanging over us in the mist,

Lingering in the dead branches of trees.

We walked to the lake and found

It too had frozen over.

A pair of mallards waddled over it,

Leaving twig-shaped footprints

Wherever they went.

The frost had turned the landscape

Monochrome, a pale blue invasion

Of both sky and earth.

Only a strip of purple woods

Divided the two.

You asked me –

‘How could this be happiness?’

I thought – 

‘How could it not be?’

That was the last time we walked together.

Our footsteps in the snow soon trodden over

By some other, and, like ice in the lake,

Were melted into memory.

When I visit that place now,

I rest my faith against the trees,

Let it rise into their branches.

I tell myself the leaves must fall

According to somebody’s plan.