Far above frozen clouds crumble
and send their pieces down below
in flakes which dodge and slowly tumble
as the winter cold winds blow.

My felt hat turns from tan to white
as I go about my evening chores
in January's fading light.
I check the stall's and old barn's doors.

Then climb into the drafty loft
to heave hay bales down to the ground
hoping that their landing's soft
not breaking twine with which they're bound.

The cattle low in the brown pasture
having seen me come this way
so they trot here, each one sure
that they will all get their share of hay.

In the gloom their backs are white
matching the ground cloaked with snow.
If this storm lasts throughout the night
they'll bed there where dense cedars grow.

I check the water in the trough
which has begun to slowly freeze
so I turn the valve to "off",
look straight up, suddenly sneeze.

Chores now done I turn toward home
down the lane through grey bare trees
standing stark in swirling gloam.
I smell home's fire on chilly breeze.

The pasture gate yields with a groan
which startles an old doe nearby
whose snorts drift through the pines which moan
joined by a coyote nearby,

In earnest the snow begins to fall
just as I top the final hill;
upon ascending it I stall
seeing glowing windows near the rill.

Smoke drifts from the wood stove's stack
then flees away on northern wind
bringing hints of supper on its back
as dim day races toward its end.

I inhale a breath of the crisp air
and pause... taking the surroundings in
knowing I'd not choose to be elsewhere.
I smile and continue home again.