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The High Night of the Dark Wind

Dancing fairies on the lake of ice, 
leaving no marks as they pass. 
The tiny birds, chase them...
not to eat, but to join them, 
laughing and chirping together.

The trees are heavy with snow. 
Thick with the night's fall. 
In places, it drifts lightly still, 
quietly, peacefully, 
deeply, solemnly. 

Winter at its height, 
cold and frost, coupled with 
ice cakes, ice cycles...and black.
Sharp pain, and brilliant light...
glared against the sky, too blue, 
then dark and full of clouds, 
sinking to the land, 
covering it in a new world. 

This is the fresh ground, 
the future of yesterday. 
Slowly from this point forward, 
it will get warmer...
the days will be longer, 
and more hopeful, 
with each passing. 

Wolves in the deep north, 
howl their last song, 
it is not mournful, 
but soulful, 
and meant to be a gift, 
of goodbye, 
until the north brings again, 
the ever white fluff, 
that fills the land with wonder, 
to plunder the light from the moon, 
through the trees, 
before and even after, 
the great freeze.

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