|Snowbirds flying blind
swoop low over acres of undulating fields
bristling with the sound of frozen wheat crackling.
A disquieting sound that breaches the sweetness
of the blues-singing night winds.
Birds find shelter in the feathery
branches that spring from the wide girth of the aging
pines. The stars turn away from
the sight of one of nature's own, bloodied and half buried in the snow.
Daytime's thief has fled grieving into the night.
A few slivers of light seep
through the windows of the small cottage
where an old man leans in close to
the last of the burning embers that
cast disfiguring shadows
across his weather-worn face.
Darkness envelopes him, paying homage to the close of
another in a long string of lonely winter days.