If all you have left is a wooden spoon

The lake is chilled….
Perhaps love is just a question on the icy breeze…

The warmth of sunlight…
Flittering whispers in the shadows…
Pale reflections in the waters…

On a tiny wood-railed bridge
Lived the gaunt hope
Of a silent scream…
I will never own to be mine…

Rather…
I see the patches of
Wild white snowdrops in the grass
Reckless beauty…

And remember the moment of a morning…
When a rainbow's end graced
A twisting mountain road…
When I drove through the magic
Of hued light…
And emerged…
Smiling…
On the other side…

Perhaps love may be a question on the icy breeze…
And the lake may be chilled for now…

But I believe questions are merely handmaidens
Of answers
In waiting…

If all you have left is a Wooden Spoon…
Get out there and stir the Universal Dust…
Like Sweetness…
There is Wonder in Pain…