Katja Delgato lives at the rocky meeting of the two massive
mountain ranges on the continent; in the shadows of mighty Moldoveanu.
She lives with nature, she listens for changes, she dances with the seasons
and records their many moods. Ever a Leo, Katja lives to play and is always
searching for the sun.
Dusting of light white
Ruffled breath of lace
Brief and weightless
Brushes the nostrils
Touches the lips
Is lost before the lungs
Pale blueish skim milk snow
Lies sparkling on
Sharp green grass
Blades thrusting through
Fragmented cut glass
Swallowed soon by the sun
Heavy and rich with a long drenched scent
Snow that has come to stay
Cold, creamy frosting that slides
In long slow gulps deep into the lungs
This plush heavy air comes
Well before the snow
The knowing wind at evening is
Ponderous with prospect and pause
Pregnant with knowing
That everything soon will be White
White that covers and conceals and cloaks . . .
White that masks and masquerades and molds . . .
White that enshrouds, disguises, transfigures . . .
How to sleep?
Knowing the very air you breathe
Will soon become solid And change the world?
To White to
white . . .
The earth groans with a paradox
Light as feathers teasing the tongues of fern
Into chantilly lace
Tracing the curls of seed pods
With shivers of ice crisps
Licking the aspen golden
Blushing the oak to scarlet
It skims the high country
Like a braggart brigand throwing all on a
Frothing, weightless gambit of white
Still the mass of it compounded
Makes the mountain moan in darkness
Stones crack and earth gives way
Frost is black when it gathers
Slick and black and weighty under the moon