Winter

Lake once choked by seaweed in the outer edges

Now belies clean dirt and cold currents

In the middle

Ice brushing inward

Its delicate traces

Receding away with the melting

The water is dull and unmoving

Under the white glowing sky

That seems to siphon your own radiance

As it beams down persistently from afar

Its obliqueness

Reflecting off the snow banks

A frequency all at once low and hard to detect

Jolts the eyes to announce its presence

Many things operated similarly

A crow squawks in a rumbling fashion

It echos nearby

But flattens not much further off

Despite the deciduous trees being empty

Offering a less hindered view of the horizon

The sounds of the crow

Make one feel they're in a small space

If space could only be determined

By atmospheric sense