 Poem written by the poet and free lance writer Helen Losse (http://helenl.wordpress.com) and based on this artwork: During the Age of Ice and Fire The trunks of the trees have grown straight and tall, shadows fall only where it’s logical. The trees burned hot, burned cold, burned like frost, burned with frost-burn. The fiery ice of passion let the trees remain, unconsumed. Fire colored the rest of the mountain: Yellow, brown, (a darker brown than the dirt by the path). Fire has melted the path-bed— but not the path—so that the path is higher than its bed and crowned to allow drainage in the age that will follow, when trees—like men— like Moses will remove their shoes at the sight of a burning bush. The sun must have been low this time of year, this time of day, which leaves my mind confused. Confused in those shadows. Perhaps, the sun was setting, vanishing, for in the upper portion of the upper left-hand quadrant, the sky is nearly black. The ice on the shadowed cliff— below the path—was blue. A person walked on the path, a building off to its right. A part of the mountain was covered with ice. And what else happens in a fantasy: The age of ice the age of fire in a time before the parting of physical laws. GO BACK | ||