White Field

frost holds every quiet field,
birch limbs stand stark below skies,
white light falls among these trees.

geese trace their early roads,
hares print these crisp banks,
foxes cross where creek slows.

stove flame warms these small rooms,
cocoa steam lifts above bowls,
bread rises under linen cloth.

night comes early; lamps shine amber,
stars watch above still ponds,
sleet ticks along glass panes.

seeds sleep under thick white crust,
roots await below every frost,
these woods guard their green heart.