Snow is still falling
from the enclosing sky.
Trees hang over fences
like rodeo clowns.

Under columns of jack pines,
a fox listens
for telltale scratching
beneath icy crust.

A white owl holds its
glide over the clearing,
while a hare
holds its breath.

The days now are leaflike,
tumbling away in the wind.
If I am not in freefall,
I am a feather on a wire.