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Ellie Shumaker

Winter Faith

It's a hard pull up this road of rocks
into the flake-kissed winter woods.
My breath puffs white and cumulus thick,
then melts at a moment's wand.
The beech trees close are bark gray rough,
then lavender mist at a tenth of a mile.
And though by my path are hop-pattern tracks,
I cannot believe there are feet but my own,
for I think that I see it all.

But what else hides in the coat of time?
or is wrapped in the scarf of distance?
or like the rabbit's soft brown life
huddles patiently under the snow?