freezing
cold wind-needles
jab at semi-warmth,
and my resistance to falling
to the crunchy ice ocean
spread out before me
the trees like ancient scarecrows
swaying, hanging above
passing a mailbox-house
for a small, prairie bird
I look to see a poor shiver-quiver
in a molding, knothole corner
chirping slightly soft
along with the blank, dead smell of winter
ever present
thoughts of walks past
friends of memory
screeching winds howl by
rushing hair and thought in every direction
animals,
seen a little too late
leave ghostly, snow mists behind them
as they leap and bound
for brittle brush and branch cover
a winter
walk always renews,
and satisfies the soul