I am Quiet

I am quiet.

Still.

Silent.

I am the absence of noise.

I am the listening to,

of life. 

I am the breath of trees, I am 

their creaking solitude.

I am the waves, 

giving up their gentle tide, I am 

the old fingers of wind,

tapping at the door 

with the arrival

of new snow. 

I am the hush of cold,

coming to wrap the city in blankets.

I am the deepest sigh of the woods.

I am the settled household, 

at last.

I am Yellow

Ochre, not the white-blind, shining sun, 

not the smiling-faced flower.

I am yellow ochre pouring in

honey-soft and slow, 

through my living room curtains

at sunset.

In summer, yes

but I am not the bright lights of summer. 

Not the never ending days.

I am the edges of the forest trees in morning

draped in mist and fog.

I am the burnt-orange,

crisped-browns,

the amber-reds of autumn. 

I am the earth, underfoot.