A Walk in a Winter Wood

A winter’s day, mid-afternoon,

and a walk on the crusty snow, careful

steps to keep from slipping, falling

on an icy patch, or, breaking through,

plunging to my knee, knee-deep

and awkward, my other leg bent and poised

for balance to pull myself out again,

to plunge again and fall, so I keep

my eyes on the snow ahead, missing, perhaps,

what lies around me in the woods;

but stopping now, a slight breeze,

too slight even to rattle the dry leaves

clinging to spindly trees left over from autumn's season,

this slight breeze carries the pungent scent of balsam,

Christmas’ fragrance, sweet and tart,

tangy, Christmas all over again

this winter day, mid-afternoon, and a walk

on the crusty snow through the woods where I live:

“O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,

Du grünst nicht nur zur Sommerzeit,

Nein, auch im Winter, wenn es schneit.

O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,

Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!”⁽¹⁾

⁽¹⁾ “Oh Tannenbaum, oh Tannenbaum,

     Not only green when summer’s here,

     But also when ‘tis cold and drear.

     Oh Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum,

     Much pleasure thou can’st give me.”