Arctic wind causes the bones to ache, and drives the sap down deep into the
roots of trees, leaving only gray skeletons swaying in the wind-
a dance of cold, of Winter death.
A bright male cardinal visits my feeder, picking through to find sunflower
seeds. His mate has made a warm nest for them, with sticks and grass and pine
needles, tucked away in thick brush behind my barn.
Far off, down in the swamp, I hear
the honking of geese, congregating for a frigid night underneath the stars.
Soon, the geese will draw their feet underneath them, and tuck their beaks into
their protective wings.
Making quick work of my evening chores, I shudder at the sound of the wind, and
I shiver at the biting cold. I am standing on the promise of a hot fire inside,
and a comfortable chair by the hearth, where I can hold my warm cup.
By Joshua Lanier
The natural world is always the centerpiece of my work, whether it be fiction, essays, or poetry. My blog can be found at Wildcat Creek Journal.