At Winter’s end in Light,
We climbed
To find a place,
Untouched by Time.

In March She works with deeds,
Sweeter than one may know.

While sewing beams,
in mountain’s hood,
She sculpts the twisting,
Ancient wood.

Moving the seeds,
From gust and glare,
And through a flurry,
Casts the sage plant rare.

Yet we were there,
And in the lull,
Between caws of crow,
We had a picnic in the snow.

While the moon kept still,
In front of blue,
I took a photograph of you.

Hidden in the eyes that blur,
Time for us became obscure.

And it was then and there
We speechless shared,
A silence in shades of gray,

Beyond the confines- 
of diminishing day.