Winter's Cold

Winter's cold freezes me.

I cannot grasp a hint of warmth

within passing clouds.

 

Along the Lumber River,

on fallen tree limbs, I spy

spiky ice bracelets.

 

Yet the gray of the sky

doesn't reflect on the black

surface of the river.

 

I am the blue heron,

wading through frigid water

searching for food.

 

In the dark bowels of the river,

I wonder if I'll find the secrets

of winter's cold.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I saw a blue heron at the edge of the Lumber River as I drove over the bridge into town this morning. Ice clings to the bark of the trees submerged in the water. The heron didn't seem to mind the cold and for a moment, I was envious.