The stronghold strengthens
the winter depth deepens.
The hill overlooks treetops
holding pockets of snow
to the empty blue sky
quietly becoming black.
With no fanfare
just cold desending from heaven.
From comfort of the sunroom
I see yellow squares
scattered in the blackness
behind naked tress losing
ground to the snowpacks assault
a battle we continue to lose.
This scene I have seen before.
These fingers have scraped
cold snow and squeezed until
nothing but liquid remains.
