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A video poem signed bobie
Winter is not the Death.
No, winter is germinal.
It's the milky belly of the summer's loves.
Winter is not the Death.
It's the song of fire crackling in the fireplace,
the cozy cocoon of the chrysalis.
The Bear's Den.
The ice surrounding the moor.
The crystal waters asleep.
Fractal snowflake.
Winter is not the Death.
It's marauding silent silver fox.
The white rabbit that blends into the tundra.
The raven flying over the plain without a flutter of wings.
It's silent king.
Her Nordic Majesty.
The ice continent.
Winter is not the Death.
It's the rest of the tree before flowering.
Foster mother of spring comes.
Underground root patiently waiting his time.
The secret which threatens the return of the sun to be.
It's the promise torrent hiding in the frozen waterfall.
Winter is not the Death.
He's holy sacrament,
immaculate conception of the cycle of the years.
He's the alpha and the omega,
the back of the side, the magnetic pole.
The solstice no less fruitful.
It's the pitch that gives the right note of the last year, of the next which comes.
He's a passage and air flow.
Winter is not the Death
because Death is certainly not the winter.
text, pictures, sound