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Poem

Hindered by the depth and breadth of winter
Cliffs dangle just outside the bungalow
With clear icicle mysteries remote
Hanging over shingles for dear life

Inside, imprisoned safe and sound
The hunter counts his rounds of ammunition
Riffle nestled useless by the common fire side
No chasing prey this season
Sleep takes its place
Why shoot the snow without a reason
It would only blow around and settle somewhere else

Outside the storm brings misery
Three feet of snow to block the door
Wind rattles windows to claw inside

The cabin remains remote, imprisoned
Embedded in the snow
More inches rise with no where else to hide 
But down on frozen lakes on powder blue
Cold holds on to banks of solid earth
All those inches piled high for what
Filling up the landscape with so much white

Pines cling on to memory of ice below the tundra line
Like all good trees they freeze but never die                                     
Over sleeping keeps the bears in dens
No need for hunting them
It would only mean their end

The realization of how quickly drifts can rise 
Accumulations conspired by cruel natures wrath
Shear numbers of snow flakes conspire 
Wind and sky hold up the nights good-bye
Now stuck inside the simple shelter fixed

Winter bound, oats are hunters sustenance, companion
Along with tea and lemon, honey makes the best of company
Will see him through to doomsday, till things turn about
Closed in on times advances   
A captive audience of one
Now waits in winter wonder
On snowy mountain counting down the hours

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