Sitting in the Falling

Five thousand feet above home, on a winter roam in a high mountain Spring among tall firs, by a mountain pond, the air flows with flakes in a whirl, I’m pulled into the air’s movement as it snows, my heart swirled, up here feels like a different world, down below redbud and daffodil blooms are already done and Spring sprouts green, but up here in an instant I’m transported as if to another planet distant, flakes fill the air, I move through it, into it, in silence, in solitude, breathing it all in, I stop and time stops with me, I sit down on a log under a tree, I lean back, look up, watching the flakes dancing, it is mesmerizing, entrancing, snow-white flakes sifting through evergreen and Aspen gray, I’m getting old, yet finally getting to obey, an old calling, sitting in the falling.