A Temporary Passage

The morning crackles with the
icy grip of winter under a ceiling of
grey-white cloud formation, whipped
by Arctic winds dominating the arras
below. Bare tree tops clacking, spruce
and cedar boughs rippling green
over the layer of white steadily
accumulating as morning progresses.

Light snow, lapping itself in a
gradual, orderly sheet of glittering
soft facets over the sheen of ice below.
The cold so bitter it penetrates all
warm-blooded creatures, chilling
their long-term survival prospects.
Their distress surely muffled by
the tender, falling crystals.

Or so one imagines. Then,
suddenly a faint, distinct trill and
there on two bristling-bare hawthorn
branches the scarlet pride of a
pair of cardinals, preening, singing,
obviously unperturbed, fully capable
of sustaining themselves, the
weather a temporary passage.