Whirling Dervishes of Winter
The wind whips the snow around
like a whirling dervish lost in the truth of ecstasy:
a pure white ghost dancing wildly
like a Banshee of God
over the snow as it coaxes and teases
the dying sun, glimmering pure blindness off the
icy whiteness of the world as it
settles into the familiar sweet blackness
of a Winter’s night.
Niles Comer