Wind whirls wildly over the white world.
Moonlight makes magic of the mountain meadow.
She comes.
Thirst tempts her through the thorny thicket.
Brook bounds boldly past bright birches.
She comes.
Picks her path on padded paws,
past pine trees.
Eyes, ears alert to evenings activities.She comes.
Rounds the rocks, head raised.
Drinks deeply of dark waters, defying danger.
They come.
Beyond the brook, beckoning to each other.
Stand in shady snow, searching the serene scene.
She watches.
Tilting their tawny necks, long tongues lap racing water.
A rough cough, then retreat from the raging river.
They go.
they wend west, white tails down.
Puncturing snow with pointed hoofs.
She goes.
Wind whips wisps of white powder into punctured snow.
Delia Nash, 2010
