White out blizzards broken through
by hooded figures with their eyes
the only truth out in the light.
Snow owls monitor the landscape
for anything that isn’t dead,
and turn their heads around
with no limits on their necks.
Under the ice capped ponds
dormant fish float in stasis
and have dreams set on an earth
of only water. Among them
twisting in the deep is a single
strand of film lost from a camera
that shot footage of the forest.
The cold darkness kept the images
intact now they are the secrets
of a shallow pond only found
through luck and perfect timing.
A fire starts out far behind the treeline
a soul of orange in the greater floor of white.
A family sits around it warm together,
and is unafraid for the duration
of the night.

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