We pause at the edge of the frozen lake,
as the sky falls and the moon wakes,
as the sun’s red flickers over white,
and stains the sky with its dying light.
The trees are bare; the leaves have gone,
as has the grass they rested on.
Snow sits upon the trees, the lake,
like icing on a Christmas cake.
But in between silence and visible breath,
and plants that Winter put to death,
there’s peace within the snowy air,
that challenges coats and ruffles hair.
The harsh breeze softens with coming dusk;
the flakes settle and lie on us.
With no destination, no set place to go,
freezing, laughing, we run through snow.