Winter Walk

Snow falls in a stillness 
that swallows land.
Branches droop
under winter's weight.

I walk down the trail.
My boot crunches snow 
on a buried path—
each step swallowed whole.

A little bird flits and searches,
dark eyes scanning the hush,
wings flicking silence, 
its beak grasping nothing but cold.

I want to tell it to hold on.
The storm will pass.
Beneath this heavy hush,
something waits to break through.

—Steven Wade Veatch