Choir of Ice

Let us sing winter’s anthem—

crystal drops on cracked branches,

staccato beats in frosted window glass,

choruses of cardinals warbling soft carols

into skies washed clean of clouds,

the wind bitter across our cheeks

like unsugared cranberries at Christmas.

The tune is light and heavy at once,

a scatter of notes grave with cold

marking either a season’s brief slumber

or an enduring rest in peace.

Songs change key,

flat notes tuned to the conductor

who taps her baton in a one-two beat

and yawns as the hymn becomes lullaby.

A diminuendo of snowflakes

muffle nature’s melody and verse

when sighing instruments are laid down

with a rapture of fulfillment.

The crisp chill of morning

whispers into hushed anticipation—

mute,

silent,

still.