Snow yesterday, fire today

Snow glides down,
light and airy,
sometimes harshly blown.
Without wind,
it blankets all,
muffling the world's sound.

Sparks spiral upward,
bright color,
contrast with the night.
Blowing in with pops and crackles,
chilling out, they die

Their commonality lies only
with their size
and the ephemeral character
of their beauty



I wasn't intending to write a poem. I just wanted to share the observation as I watched my dad's small slash fire burn against the pitch black background of the early night. Not perfect, and my mum helped make it more poem-like, but I'll keep it, I guess.

I almost pity people who never leave the city. The city and suburbs have their own beauty and elegant moments, but I do seem to find more visual pleasures in more natural surroundings.* I think that's why my muse likes it so much better here. Even if the land animals do tend to hide from me.

Hmph. My inner Thoreau is showing through. I s'pose I should read his work someday, eh? (am bad New Englander)


*Of course, I am obviously more a nature person than a people person. That's why it's only almost pitiable to never get out of town.

Now the question is, why did I train in portraiture if that's the case? =D