THE LAST SNOW

Pristine snow, earth smothering crystalline carpet
glinting in the bright, yoke yellow, noon high sun.
The history of the feline chase,
captured for ever - until the thaw.
Vivid green shoots thrusting skyward,
off set by the ice blue mantle of their surroundings.
Twigs bent low with burdens of haw frost and icicles,
buds already full to bursting with the imminence of spring.

Black birds dusting themselves in the icy powder,
preening themselves in preparation for courtship.
A Robin, his blood red chest reflected in the frozen bird bath,
taps his impotent futile rhythm on captured larder.

Now, craters appear beneath the skeletal trees
and ice daggers slice the frozen crust,
loosened from gutters creaking in the warming air or,
dislodged from boughs by gentle breeze.

A sharp crack as the mirror surfaced pond yields
to the weight of the blue grey fisherman,
who steps with careful and precise gait,
his black eyes alert for the slightest submarine meal
and then away with slow indolent flaps into the Wedgwood sky,
startled by the urgent pads of the black cat hurrying by,
with feather filled mouth carrying captured food
as a midday treat for her spring time brood.