The remains of last season
Visible as an odd curiosity
For I have not seen the leaves green here
Somewhat strange to arrive at the start of the dormant season
And wonder how life will transform and blossom
Now we approach darkness
Hesitant like stepping into frigid waters
The darkness does not concern me
I barely discern the difference
Here where day and night ooze and overlap
Lacking strong shadows and clean lines
Oh wild beast
Contained
By civilization
It does not become me
My eyes narrow and pulse quickens
I pace the cage uneasily
You pinned me to the wall
Did you think I would settle in softly
And not lash out?
It is uncomfortable
I shift awkwardly and cannot make eye contact
She stares back intently asking for recognition
Recognition I am unable to give
Only a blank stare in return
Shallow
Touching no more than the surface of the reflective glass before me
For a moment I become the Little Prince
Standing at the center of my little world
Silent and alone I can see forever and forever is not far
I call out and hear my echo
It is a small world
Too small
It is not that I feel large
Only confined
I see last season’s leaves still clinging to a dormant branch
And I see beauty in even that promise of what was
What will be
A certainty I am not yet comfortable with
Instead I curl up like a kitten in the windowsill
Basking in sunshine I only remember
Gin Getz 
Lovely…makes me want to curl up on a window seat watching the outside and whatever shares itself.
I have been in your old neck of the woods now for three days and have thought of you daily…When we planned our trip many months ago I fully expected to meet you…maybe another day? ‘Miss’ you. HuGs!
OOOOhhhh… ouch… this saddens me… I’ll think of something more positive to say later… but for now, it somehow brings the change, the distance, the loss… more. Why isn’t “more” always good?
You moved to the valley however I see the same Gin, the same mixture of reflection and energy, introspection and strength. Only now, with neighbours close by, it’s harder to maintain a persona of mystery. The protection afforded by distance has been stripped away. But you can be loved and appreciated for who you really are: which is not, so far as I can tell, that wild beast that your lovely passionate poem proclaims. Mature personality reflects who one is and what one stands for, right from one’s core. You are Gin, and not some wild unloveable spirit of the high mountains. You’ve lost a treasured place, I’ve lost one too, but neither of us has had a part of our inner being amputated. We are still who we are: creative, interesting, valuable, worthy of respect.
I hope you will feel settled and feel like you belong where you are before too long. Change is hard, but I hope you have a Merry Christmas in your new surroundings!