A dusting of snowfall transports me to distant winters and the stillness of early mornings at the edge of a wilderness.
The whisper and long shhhhhhhhh of skis on new snow.
Impending weather and the stillness between acts.
Winter sky that is the blue of yearning.
Clear light glints,
collects, worries loose
long ice teeth from the sloping
birds drop, I glimpse
uneven triangles of wing,
swinging under red branches,
over blue humps of snow,
we live in a small house
in a nonexistent town, surrounded
fangs of mountains snapping
at the sky,
the many arms of a winter loaded cottonwood
it is a dance solitaire,
in which the eye leads,
in which the mind follows,
a waltz of January trees.