Field Notes of a Wanderer

“Frosted Elegy”

The forest hums with the language of light,
where winter etches its story on every branch.
Each twig, a quiet rebellion
against the weight of time,
against the ache of endings.

The sun leans in, tender and golden,
warming what the frost holds sacred.
The air is alive with whispers,
a hymn to stillness,
a song for the wanderer who dares to pause.

I stand here,
wrapped in the silence of trees,
where every breath crystallizes—
a prayer offered to the season of waiting.

The Wanderer

©️ 2025 Christina Whalen