Winter Sleep - Feb 15 2023

 

Winter Sleep

Feb 15 2023

The season of stillness.

The frozen ground.

A blanket of snow

absorbing sound.

Animals,

either torpid, or hunkered down;

starvation and cold

having taken their toll.

And all the thin-blooded birds

that fled south,

following the sun

when the days grew short.

It's the quiet I notice most.

As well as the sense of time slowing

in the grip of cold.

The dormant plants;

animals

in their winter sleep

living off fat;

and even the fish,

sluggish

in the ice-bound water

starved of oxygen.

So I walk

on a February night

through cold dry snow,

the glacial silence

only broken

by the squeaky-clean crunch of my boots.

The sound is surprisingly loud

in the still arctic air,

and seems intrusive, unwelcome;

as if my clumsy presence

is a violation

of some reverential space.

Like profane language in church,

or shouting another woman's name

while making love.

But on I trudge,

measured steps

one after the other

disturbing the calm.

Each step

broadcasting my presence

to all the reclusive creatures

in this wilderness world

where silence rules.

To the curious and wary

who watch unobserved.

To the cooly indifferent,

too self-assured

to notice.

And to every hungry predator

concealed in the snow;

ears twitching,

eyes on high alert.