The Snow Stallions
The snow stallions
have descended,
their white manes
wildly blowing,
their hooves beating
the frozen earth.
Through the night
they come,
galloping,
their frosty breath
billowing before them.
The trees bow
to their advance,
limbs turn leaden
with ice and snow.
At first light
the miracle
of their stampede
is revealed,
a landscape
made of crystal,
fracturing light
and cold.
Footprints
Snow has hidden the ground and disclosed the presence of the neighbors I have never seen. Footprints appear everywhere, crisscrossing the yard from the woods to the house and back again. Some, I know are deer, some fox or squirrel, perhaps coyote, bob cat or mountain lion — although the state does not recognize their presence, locals claim to have seen them. The snow-covered field is an interstate of prints, cloverleafs and jug handles. A minor pile up of snow appears in one corner of the yard, sign of a skirmish. I consult my Pocket Guide to Animal Tracks but still cannot identify them all. Perhaps a panther has wandered by or a unicorn. The cold white canvas reveals what has always been present but never observed.
