Beneath The Spruce

There he sat beneath the spruce, his appearance primitve in nature

A glimpse I had yet to catch, had yet to witness

Beneath a heavy winter sky; low lit and gray

Above that, there he sat through wind, through blowing snow

His head bowed, his ears erect, his eyes closed, his long coat blowing in the wind

He sat underneath a heavy and heavenly winter sky

Beneath the spruce he talked to those late

I couldn’t leave the window as I reached out

He and I talked to the same creator

T.J. Shrader