“After a Blizzard” by Annette M. Krizanich


It was a long walk through the cloud
that came to my knees. But at the top of the slope
the board wouldn't move: too much
snow. So I sat and was

very still. I could hear leaves rattle
on oaks that threw blue
shadows on the hillside. The branches
held the sun—an orange ball.

I lay back, strangely warm.
Cars passed on some distant
road beyond the frozen
lake, and I thought I could sleep.

But I didn't. When I sat up
the shadows were longer.
I began to walk.
The trees had gone

silent, the snow turned a shade
of marble. Not even a crow.
But the pattern:
when the time

was right the trees
would send their lives
forth, together;
the light, return.