This is no time for dying.
It's time to fill the senses:
soft caress of wind
humming in treetops,
carrying the scents of forest,
shaking the play of colours,
enhancing the taste of blueberry.
Time for the last rush of blood
to get ready for the long evening,
for the long night
inside the warm blanket of snow
not to die, just to pull back a little,
to breath evenly,
to hear things with no sound.