Twilight's Embrace

Cold. The landscape is a paste

of white-wash. Covers shrubs and escape-routes.

Moles and other creatures

awakened to the fact winter has come.

Shiver. Food supply prepared.

A crow’s silhouette watches at twilight’s

finale - flutters to a newer perch.

I dwell among  limbs of birch trees

their leaves descended into nature’s bosom

daring a season of chill. And survival.