Poems for Winter

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Miles to Go
I sit astride a fallen oak
not a jingle-belled horse,
but the feeling must be the same:
a quiet, intuitive ache
in my core
as I watch fat flakes
filter through barren branches.
I, too, have more to do
than hours in my day,
but—for now—
I set aside
my clutter,
to do the more important work
of watching these
(still,
silent)
lovely woods
fill with snow.
The Encounter
Driving home,
my headlights find
the round eyes
of a pure white owl
perched atop a snowy kill
in the center of the road.
My heart flutters;
her wings stay tucked.
We peer at each other
for a billowing breath,
then she lifts
silently
leaving me with only
the shape of her wings
swept on the powdered ground
and a catch
as small as a mouse
in my throat.
Three Winter Haiku
      Color-deprived eyes
glut on juniper berries
      when all else is gray.
On seeing the winter moon:
      Does she shine brighter
in the cold, or do I slow
      down enough to see?
      Wind nibbles my ears,
pinks my ears and bare fingers—
      scent of coming snow.