Snowshoeing

     No wind
but cold enough
to chill still cheeks
so we move off
over the snow
sky dense with stars
moon a quarter-light
trees limned
against the night.

       No sound
but our snowshoes
creaking the snow
lifting puffs
      with every
wide-legged step.

No perspective
but before us
an undisturbed sheet
     covers the 
hidden country
where we orient
our winter landscape.

No trouble
breaking trail
      before us
snow neat as a 
new-laid counterpane
behind us a path
     undulating
like some unknowable
nocturnal beast.