Another Winter Poem: "The Great Silence"

The Great Silence

We who live on the shores of Lake Erie know of the Great Silence
Which descends every November along with the white smothering
Blanket of snow. Our spirits, our spirits!

Even on a rare warm November night, the windows open,
This stark silence-- no crickets frogs toads,

And in the morning no bird concert, just the scary caw
Of crows looking for the remains of summer.

The brown stubble fields are fallow my heart is fallow,
Empty, the wind howls and echoes through my silent spirit
Whispering whispering to this landscape of grays, browns, and black

Of a small green hope to come
When, at least in imagination, the Great Silence,
This long loneliness, erupts in friendly laughter and chatter,

Fresh new green resurrecting out of this vast vast silence.

Robert M. Coughlin
November 4, 2003