Quiet is the morning,
As the woods prepare
For a late winter storm.
The squirrels race,
Frenetically doing
What squirrels do,
When they sense the coming
Of ice and snow.

Now there is a blanket,
quiet and white,
as I feel a fury building;
It is nothing to be seen or heard,
only a primeval cue:
Gather wood,
pull the loved ones close,
the earth,
an adversary has become.

by afternoon the forest yawns,
not fatigued,
But drawing breath
for a mighty blow.
I hear a blizzard in the distance,
foreboding,
choosing victims
from the ranks of the
unprepared.

I feel alone in the night,
cozy within,
yet abandoned,
for none will come,
and surely,
I cannot go.
I will survive,
or not,
by the sheer whim
of nature.

did you heed the warning
placed so deep within?
did you store provisions
Sufficient for winter’s end?
have you learned the lessons
of nature’s virulent power?
will you survive the night,
and witness springtime flowers?