Clumps of feather snow drifted heavily down

hour upon hour

and the whole of the visible world softened in white.

A surprise storm cupped the riverland,

suspending life in sweet and requisite slowness.

By late afternoon,

a collective inhale–wind change

and the vanished birds flocked in,

lilting through air, hopping

branch to earth and

back again,

their celebrations begun.

Dense snow falls

and covers the streets.

What would it be without them?

Grasses stretching on, herds of deer.

Wolves might return. And bear.

Thick muscled trees poke the sky,

their entangling limbs in dances slow, slow,

slow upon the land.

Ladybugs know it. Ground squirrels, too.

Turn your opened mouth to the clouds

and you can suckle a frozen milk, tender, gentle.

I will walk into the hills where evergreens hug the rise,

letting my feet take me into a whitened hush.