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.

To this aliveness.

To this.

Snow covers the mountains.

Deer nibble at the ground.

Squirrels and Stellar’s jays scold

            for no apparent reason.

Each creature listens

            for enlightenment.

Night settles into the meadow.

Moon rises over the far ridge.

Coyote trots over buried trails,

            over memories of summer,

listening

            to winter sing in the pines.