Mary Rodriguez

perched on a hill overlooking the frozen lake
we wake to the majesty of frosted trees
the outside thermometer reads twenty below
we dress in layers

the noise is deafening
as our boots fracture the frozen stillness
breaking through ice-encrusted snow

we stop and remain rooted
captivated by
brilliant white silence

we don’t circle the island but trudge noisily onward
to the other side of the lake and up through the woods
to a road that leads nowhere
leaving us too weary to retrace our steps

deer find the easiest path and we follow their tracks
along clear-cut power lines
through thigh-high snow
climbing up and tumbling down
hill after hill until
we have to stop to catch our breath

packed snow marks a deer’s nesting spot
and a downhill clearing leads to the lake
the snow is shallow on this gentle decline
and with the same mechanics we employ
navigating from dock to boat in summer
we mount a snowbank and step down onto the lake

our boots once again plunder winter’s holy quiet
the north wind rips through our layers
and burns our exposed skin

for respite
we stop and turn our backs to the wind
to wonder at winter’s incredible beauty