There was a time when winter settled in,
A mountain stood, untouched by warmth or spring,
Content beneath the sky’s indifferent gaze,
No need for change, no promise of new days.

But then a breeze, soft as a distant hum,
Wandered through the valleys, gentle, numb,
A fleeting warmth, felt like a whisper through the frost,
Not much, but enough to feel and show what had been lost so far.

The mountain let the cold begin to melt,
Not knowing yet the trick the breeze had dealt…
For winds, they never stay, they only pass,
Like sunlight flickering on broken glass.

Pebbles in a stream, touched once, then left behind,
Water flows ahead, leaving none to bind.
And now the silence swells where once was sound,
A quiet that wraps tighter, all around.

The mountain stands again, alone, aware,
Of how the breeze had danced without a care.
No need, no roots, no promise in the air,
Just a passing glance that left the stone laid bare.

Now the frost returns, sharper than before, and to stay forever…
And the breeze is nothing but a distant roar…
The mountain doesn’t wait for winds to play nor space to pass again…
For winter’s cold, it’s here, and here to stay.

A heart buried deep where no thaw will find,
No warmth, no breeze, no need to bind.
Let the winds rush past, let the world move on,
The mountain stands – silent, withdrawn.

-A Solivagant’s Shoes