Dusk and Dawn in Durmitor

Dusk’s silence deafens,
like someone turned off the world with a single switch.

Black pines are endless,
dusted in December snow,
the Alps don all white.

North air, crisp and cool,
carries the scent of newness,
and time infinite.

Glass daggers stretch out from underneath awnings,
like magic wands of dream.

I awake joyful,
welcoming in
just one last pastel coloured day.

Pearl is the dawn sky.
Purples and pinks, greys and whites,
Oh, how God can paint.