As usual, I hardly felt the cold, or I felt it
as I felt my own tongue in my mouth—
gratefully. Freezing quiets the mind. I had never
been so calm. I lay on my back, head
cradled in brown leaves, ears filling with snow,
like the sateen deer who nest at night
in their oval earth beds, and I was in love
with everything I saw—bud scale and birch
bark, fan-shaped twigs, the long blue shadows
stretching over snow, and—then the letting go—
some of the Berkshires looked like vertebrae
and it was comforting to sleep on them.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 4.
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