Still

Free verse about the pasture in winter.

Still

It is so quiet, you can hear the crispness of the air;

the trackless snow squeaks with every step.

The cottonwoods are stark against the cold, grey sky;

while the cedars are shivering within their snowy boughs.

The prairie grass lies quietly beneath its blanket of snow,

waiting for the sun's loving touch to warm it with the coming spring.

Under a snowy cathedral of bunchgrass, a jackrabbit huddles;

his long, delicate, black-tipped ears pressed down flat.

With a snowy whir a prairie chicken flock bursts into the cold, grey sky;

banking, coasting, and banking once again before gliding back to greet the snow.

The cedars are shivering within their snowy boughs,

while the cottonwoods stand stark against the cold, grey sky

and the still, trackless snow squeaks with every step.