Winter's Icy Wind

Above, a wide, deep wash of blue.
Not a wisp of cloud to mar this
day's stunning perfection. This
was today's message to us.
Frigid temperatures reign
thanks to the absence of cloud
trapping scant winter heat below.

We are lashed by the icy fingers
of winds in high dudgeon,
knocking the heads of the
forest trees and slicing its fire
across our revealed flesh; eyes
weeping, foreheads frozen.

Dried flower stalks bow in
humble homage to the
insistent, imperious wind.
Gossamer veils of snow
languorously part from
laden spruce boughs.

Oblivious, in their winter
element, the minuscule, dainty
black, grey and white shapes
of chickadees flit from branch
to branch, calling their delight
with their environment.

The creek running through
our Ontario wooded ravine in
this Ottawa Valley is frozen fast,
its glaring surface reflecting
the sun's serendipitous presence
as we lope along snow-padded trails.

We have company this day;
silent, elongated, gracefully
following, then leading us forward.
Our shadows step lively, unaffected
by the chill, the ferocity of wind.
Brought to life by the sun's
life-affirming presence.