Snow is still falling.
Trees hang over fences
like rodeo clowns at
the end of the day.
Under columns of 
jack pines, an arctic
fox listens for telltale
scratchings of lemmings
beneath icy crust.
A white owl holds its
glide over the clearing,
a hare holds its breath.
If I could hold you,
in this moment,
I would not miss
the warmth of Spring.