Where are the silences of snow?
Squelching in the remnants
Duck paddling in the meadow,
Now morning cacophony of birdsong.
Already distant are the early
Squeaking of so-cold snow
The sun a struggling idea
Behind cocooned mountains
Sometimes the dogs would leap
In powdery white highs
Charged with the changing landscape.
Coffee steaming in both hands
Layers and a hat, guarding their joy
One crow, I hear the feathers rustling
His individual wingbeats.