And tighten the scarves around our faces.
We step into the wind that tosses snow down the highway.
I cannot feel my fingers: a small price to pay.
Underneath a snow-bank we spy the outline of a bridge
And we follow, uncovering clues.
We spot a blue diamond shining out like a beacon
And follow, blown about by the blast.
We ascend into the woods and suddenly
We here only the muffled plop of our snow shoes.
The branches swallow gusts above,
Absorbing them into their trunks.
Below, the storm sounds like a dream far away.
She plods on ahead, the guide, and
I follow, tripping over snow clumps.
Sometimes she walks too fast, but
Then stops to wait.
Our eyes meet, we nod quickly, we keep walking.
We seek fresh tracks to follow.
We pay mind to the crack and boom of trunks.
We walk faster when we hear them creak.
We sink into banks and we glide when
We cross the wind-packed plain.
Maybe in a month, the ice will crack and
The snow will melt away in cascades.
Moss will peep through the blankets and
Bird will chirp love songs to one another.
But now the trees stand still and sleep in the snow.
Cold air presses on like it never plans to leave.
So we plod on, breathing mist in our scarves.
Image provided by Google Images.