Snow settles haphazardly in the back fields.
A hard wind blurs my footsteps.
The rubble of the collapsed barn,
like the fence line, is hard to find.
Snow alters the perspective.

This white smoothness covers
the tangled grass of summer,
the gnawed bones of a rabbit,
the clawed shriek of the winter owl.
So much lies buried here.

The north wind chills to the bone.
Winter is not a season for forgiving.