Arrested

Nothing in the frozen landscape
moves, other than a stubbornly
immature hornbeam's transparent
dry autumn leaves hanging on, a
small defiance of pale brown in a
landscape drowned in white
alongside the stark, dark trunks
of winter-nuded trees, urged to
restlessness by an impish breeze.

The forest has been frozen in an
attitude of suspended activity, as
though a chamber darkened when a
light was switched off, winter
warning the sun and warmth to
make themselves scarce. And so,
the intimidated forest shorn of its

green canopy, awaits the signal of
mild days opposing frigid nights
when it will respond sending sap to
its heights from storage in nether
regions. Apprehended in surprise
when surly winter sent another spasm
of snowy aspiration-stifling renewal.