WINTER PRELUDE

I wake to

A talcum dusting of snow;

Shards of ice designate puddles.

There are no disruptive voices,

No tractors to snarl and prowl

The single-track lanes.

Morning turns to afternoon.

Same clouds, same gloom –
And into dusk.
Until the skies relent.

I watch as

Crows stack flight
Above the horseless paddock,
And a wagtail maps out
The course of an oxbow.
Nothing else moves.

It is so quiet

I can hear the pulse of the stars.