Poem by Ann Christine Tabaka
FIVE MINUTES BEFORE WINTER
Five minutes before winter,
everything stops.
The sky opens up.
Silence penetrates the air.
And so the story goes,
without beginning or an end.
A finger points to nowhere,
a hand waves to the past.
Not knowing the distance
between right and wrong,
the path becomes obscure.
Delicacy of the moment,
wrapped in the wings of a dove.
Winter befalls autumn
in a whisper thin moment.
Cold is now the victor,
the sovereign of our days.
All set in wait for passage,
five minutes before winter.
