Winter Canticle

Primordial turn of Earth.

Snow.

Solitude with stone.

Light rises,

            travels below the south ridge.

Cold lingers

            on the shadow side of the valley.

Fleeting moments of warmth midday.

I clap hands to awaken my ears

            to this season’s voice.

This aliveness.

This.

Deer nibble the ground.

Squirrels and Stellar’s jays scold us

            for no apparent reason.

Each creature listening

            for enlightenment.

Snow covers the world.

Night settles down into the meadow.

Moon rises over the far ridge.

Coyote trots over memories of buried trails,

            listening.

Glaciers deepen on the north side of mountains.

Icicles click in the breeze.

Listen.