Deep Winter

The white woods stand silent in late afternoon.
Snowy pines weigh along my January hillside.
Felled wood and sawed stump, both layered under view.

Gone are the boreal chickadees from branch and crevice.

Home is the black squirrel to his burl in the oak.

Shadow prints with stories linger over cabin lake.
Two sets of snowshoes wound their circular route.
A snowmobile groove near the frozen fish hole.
Some meandering deer and one arrow straight fox.

Enough thoughts to fill my last coffee cup.

The southern ridge sky bids an orange serenade.
The quarter moon waiting above the tree line.
A kindling warmth starts the cabin wood stove.
A darkening woods reaching nearer to door.
My standing yard light marks the end to twilight. 

Nighttime matures in measured broken silence.
At 10:30 a trucker gears out from my hollow.
Freeze pops shake the cold midnight shadows.

My fresh log crackles over 2 o clock embers.
That collared wolf likely stalking my driveway.

Fall is but a memory; Spring, not a topic.

A life learned balance,
knowing reason and purpose,

keep my wits,

In deep winter.