The New Winter's Morning

The New Winter’s Morning

A crackling branch below a tree, where the snow is not too deep,

A friendly tread, in the thick of the forest, where even silence sleeps.

In the quiet of a silvery morning, as the last star winks at the sun,

A round silhouette, etched in sparkling snow, is flitting about in fun.

A baritone chuckle and a flash of red, in powder snow up to his knees,

Something or someone has come back to life, where the deepest snows blanket the trees.

Then a single shrill whistle, before the song of the first morning bird,

And, the “flufflings” of snow, and the “hufflings” of breaths, on the edge of the wild is heard.

Soon, the shakings of frosty coats, and rattling of  many an antler,

And, harnesses cinched, soft bells jingling, mutterings and quiet banter.

Finally, lifting, and sailing up above the trees, in a roar of laughter so strong,

A herald’s joy, in flight toward Christmas, in Heaven’s Glad Tidings and Song.