Snow reflects the moon in muted white,
while shy and silent black holds heavens tight 
and squeezes the stars to make them shine
on ghostly specters of snow draped pine.

 

Greyed clouds compress those mountains old,
obscuring  where their peaks might end.
Returned dawn gilds gray clouds with gold,
God’s choose to their good wishes send.

 

Burnished ice has stilled the glacial creek
which begins just beneath the mountains peak,
shyly invisible when clad in their foggy shroud
which slides down the slope to form a cloud.

 

Snow bowed pines clump in conspiring packs
unified against pine beetles and lumberjacks.
They set their roots deep in ice cracked rock
unfazed  by the winds, they smugly mock..