Winter Day

Hour after muted hour frozen crystals
fell from the lid of a silver sky to
swirl and sweep across the landscape
tossed by the wind on this frigid
winter day.The forest under that low
ceiling of cloud discarding its treasury
of brilliant flakes furbelowing all that
lies below is still and serene, absent of
sound absorbed by the lofty down of
snow bringing comfort to unseen creatures
settling themselves as dusk falls and the
dark of night begins to creep its presence
where the eerie vision of the last vestiges
of wind whispers a veil of snow from
a snow-laden bough, where birds have
taken night shelter within the confines
of cedars, where ectoplasmic shapes
have sifted over old tree stumps and the
sound of the creek running through the
forest gently lapping ice forming beside
the shoulders of its banks is hushed.
As the departing wind shifts aside the
clouds, the setting sun sends ribbons of
pale blue and pink across the sky and
there, above the forest canopy as though
resting on the mast of a venerable pine
hangs the moon shining her silver gaze
upon the snowbound landscape below.