Moss Brook shines in the first snow fall. For the first time in a long time, I slow life’s pace to notice what’s here, at my door, and welcome more snow.
In the morning after snow fall , there are tracks of visitors, the raccoons, porcupine, coyote, fox, deer, and squirrels move through in the snow long before me. The vernal pool has frozen clear.
Tracks come out of the woods along the stream left by commuters
in a pristine new world stores of pinecones and acorns hidden
wind loosens trees from their burden
snow dances through the air
forming and reforming images before laying in the field
icicles hang sideways from the roof
windblown like crooked teeth
while silent birds hunker in trees
whose branches creak with new meaning
Moss Brook runs black next to white my tracks join fox,
squirrel, and deer as we search for something new
in the hushed aftermath of snow