Snowshoewing

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
covering 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.