Forest In Winter Poem by Rory Hudson

Winter’s chill winds again, and the birds
wing silently through the white pine trees
searching the snow for food, scratching the ground
when they find signs of sustenance.

A blanket of whiteness deadens my footsteps
but seems to sharpen the whistling of the wind,
and is raised and gathered into gusts that rage
shrill and stinging against the trunks of the trees.

Like a cold steel knife
winter bites icily into the cracked bark,

and the forest sways,
but with proud fortitude,

for winter is a hard taskmaster,
but fiercely beautiful.