Winter Dreams

Waiting, gifted, transitory, A white crust of bread Each snowflake the better part of me Sun rising over snow laden barn; Owls retire, Stroked by sunbeam fingers Much softer than my own. It is a time of downy mornings calling Through a chilly air to kiss my breath: “Wake up Jake, the pump is frozen” I’m awake. Sheets are laid across the pond. Beneath; the water sleeps As ice breaks on the bow Of every duck as They cross in columns Leaving ice cubes in their wake. Winter’s breadcrumbs; Marking trails for their return, Spilling the ice From mother nature’s trays. A crunching sound of footsteps Travels miles to be near. Deer will twitch and flick a favored ear. Icy needles, spiky columns Ice glistening On each winter’s retina As cold invades Every winter bone.