For three days now the world has been frozen.
Rock hard ground, sheathed in ice and snow;
Any worms or insects the birds might hope to find,
Securely encased in frozen mud.
Any fallen seeds, buried under ice.
Berries top the bird buffet;
Berries, and any human offerings
Left behind in kindness, to sustain
In search of food.
Food to fuel survival
Until the world grows soft again,
And offers up its bounty.
The world is frozen,
A glinting, glimmering, hard and shiny
Version of itself.
White sunlight bouncing from ground to leaf
To icicle adorned landscape;
Glinting in eye piercing patches of brightest light
From water and snow.
This frozen light,
Clear and hard;
Offers no warmth.
The world is frozen, brittle, sharp and painful.
Wind sucking warmth from finger and face,
Snow numbing toes and hands.
Icicles threatening like crystal knives,
Gathering girth as frozen night follows frigid day.
Birds crunch frozen berries from ice glazed shrubs,
Filling their gullets with ice,
Flying to keep from freezing, staying close in
Living clouds of winged family flocks.
Ruffling feathers against the wind,
Standing on ice, wading in briny waves.
A small miracle, to remain warm
In this world of ice.
Words and Photos by Woodland Gnome 2014