She walked through
the cold winter evening,
her wide dress
blowing in the wind,
her hair moving around her face.

In the fen it was silent,
no bird to hear.
She walked and felt
the earth under her feet.

She reached the meadows
behind the dark forest.
Here the wind was so strong,
she had to fight with him.

The Spirits of Winter
were floating over the white plains,
raising the flocks
as if they were lighter then air.

She stumped
through the deep snow,
that made her black dress white,
her cloak fluttering with the elements.

Under the Old Oark
she found safety,
the wild snow
could do her no harm.

The tree nestlet
warm against her cheek.
She felt the rough bark
under her cold hands.

Next to her
the frozen drops
hang like tears
in the twigs of the shrubs.

The Power of the oak devolved to her
like flames to dry gras.
The soft voice of the tree echoed
into the coming storm.

"The circle of life
goes on and on,
everything is flowing,
you will see."

Thankful she was
when she listened
to the consolatory words.
The Oak has once been
a Wise Woman.