January Voices

January Voices

January, and the voice of the winter storm
howls over the pallid passes
before dawn. The Douglas fir, the pine,
the Engelmann spruce snore
at the first soft clues of morning.
A frozen day,
I think, yet it will arrive
amazingly, daylight
ascends from the arms of boughs, streams
silently from the hearts
of pink clouds.
The Great Horned Owl screeches
from its branch, shivers,
and flies away. The grizzly,
asleep for winter, growls in his dreams
and swats salmon in the river. My head
races in the memory of a trillion fallen snowflakes.

I hunker by the fire waiting for a warm chinook wind.