each year for more

the lake
is a Russian blue on this
Christmas morning.
five miles around
through woods and stones.
no boats
disturbing the water,
no one fishing.
hardly a soul
about.
the geese are on the shore
in groups
of grey threes
and fours.
it's cold. it's winter.
it's the beginning
of things.
the end of
others.
the lake holds a truth
that lives inside
me.
it's why I return
each year,
for more.