We’ve gotten used to sounds
deep in a winter night, a loud
ping when the woodstove reaches
some cooler temperature,
muffled tumbles of smoldering logs,
the creak of pine floorboards
as if someone walked quietly.
Downstairs the refrigerator
hums, the water heater readjusts.
What is shifting inside this house
I wonder, content, then roll into sleep.
Wind buffets the roof with
a grand whoosh that pushes off
off a foot of new snow, louder
than any wild animal out there.