Used with permission. Kanzensakura all rights reserved.
The way the snow fell we knew the trail would be covered. But we pressed on, past the meadows we’d once see full of life in autumn, now dead. Buried. Then, somewhere in the distance, a lone bird (I couldn’t place its name by its call) cried. Wanting food? Searching? We didn’t know, but we pressed on. I, at times, covered my eyes with my hands to save my sight.
Towards night, we entered the dark, somber wood, the trees speaking and whispering among themselves. Somewhere, again, a bird call, but this time farther away. Leaving us. I turned around and said, “Now it’s time to press on. The cabin is maybe another 20 minutes that way.” I pointed towards a pathless field of white. The trees still talking, creaking, and, somewhere, that bird again, calling. “Let’s go.” I moved forward and wiped the snow from my eyes.
Tall quiet trees stand
In winter white while a lone
Bird mourns through the leaves.