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We venture out
Just as the edges
Of the light crease
The sky.
The shift change
Of nature charges
The woods with
Purpose and
Craving.
Silent wings
Flash in the periphery,
The night-time hunter
Abandoning the search
To seek safety
As he becomes the
Hunted.
The pink of the sky
Touches the
Fresh snow.
The day has
Begun.

Long, low
Shadows drift through
The fresh snowfall.
Though it is noon,
Angles are acute,
Making waves in
The sparkling crystals.
My breath clings
To the scarf beneath
My coat,
Growing in the cold
Wind,
As if I could use
It again.
This brilliance passes
Quickly,
Giving way to early darkness
And stars.