Skeins of Snow

Perched loftily on naked
tree spires, a convocation of crows
sit black and hunched
against the vast aluminum
pan of the sky
peering moodily down
upon the snow-humped arras
of the forest below. As
dark clouds begin
their conquest of the sky
they call their derisionary
challenge to nature's plans
of storming their world again.

From a far distance
the morose wail of a
ghostly train whistles faintly
by, inspiring a Pileated woodpecker
to respond, loosing
its lunatic hysterical call
announcing the imperative
of its territorial ambition
over the forest stillness.

Echoing the final lost notes
of the departed train,
the wind's bellicose
churning of the forest canopy
resounds in a deep bellow
counterpointed by the sharp
clacking of tree tops,
the dull thud of trunks
colliding and parting.

Gossamer-white strands
and skeins of snow
slide in graceful falls of
frozen water, imperiously
nudged from their abundance
on branches and limbs and
needles, to leave an
intricate, lacy pattern
of infinite beauty below.