Frost-Bitten

Silent, this snow-muffled day, 
and stealthy like a viciously prowling
beast, the wind coasts on the icy
air in defiance of the winter sun
blazing the heat of its light wanly
through the forest canopy. 
Nipping and biting with its
scalpel-sharp edge, the wind flays
frozen skin, pain evolving toward 
absence of sensation as living
cells helpless in their own defence
succumb to the deathly onslaught,
a misery of wretched conditions
cold exacerbated by ravening
wind equalling the bite of a frosted
devil gnawing at exposed skin,
the brilliant landscape of snow
luminously lovely, withal.