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Poem

It snowed last night
I awoke listening to the cold whisperings
of windblown flakes.

Peeking through the closed drapes
I can see that the snowfall fell just enough
to cover the base of the concrete birdbath.

The sky has laid a white cloth over the lawn
and as yet there are no claw or paw prints
to mar that coverlet.

At the dim fringe of dawn
a grey fox appears.
It pads a path across the virgin snow,
it prints painting a shadow trail.
The fox does not stay, but crosses
my view in a heavy trot.

Where are you going grey vixen
the conies are not yet awake
and the geese are sweeping
a new roof of sky with their wings,
showers of snow are shaken from the trees
as they pass.

The daylights tepid gaze lingers longer,
tectonic plates of cold air shift acres of silence,
yet my windowpane creaks
as if a pacing frost still trod across it.

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