Freezing bark scraped against my face so bare,
As I climbed high, two-thirds the oak's tall frame.
Winter’s breath chilled the air, a silent snare,
Each branch a whisper of the season’s claim.

With brittle limbs like crystal in their might,
The rough wood pressed, each crack a sharp embrace.
Yet up I went, in fading winter light,
With every cut, I found my rightful place.

The frozen world below began to fade,
And in this height, where all the cold seemed brief,
I felt my spirit soar, no plans to trade,
For in this tree, I found my sweet relief.

Though winter bites with harsh and cutting grace,
I climbed through pain, and found my warming space.

Tomaž Jevšenak