Atmospheric conditions have
beaten the sky to a silver-white
froth of clouds that vigorous
winds prepare to upend
spilling the white in a cascade
of snow flurries over the waiting
landscape, leaving the silver intact.
The forest's creek welcomes a
fresh plush coverlet over the
thick blanket already covering
its icy surface in the frigid air of
a winter afternoon. Birdsong there
is none, nor frantic scrabbling of
furred forest creatures all huddled
in their lairs on this frosted day.
The series of bridges thoughtfully
fording the creek in its switchbacks
stand as testament to the fate of
the forest trees, hunched with the
burden of a winter's snowpack
the forest canopy a lacework of
white-ladled branches, the forest
floor an undulation of white.
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