Arctic Rest

High in a cottonwood tree’s spindliest branches, a redtail hawk brazenly rests. A raucous circle of glossy crows surrounds him. They battle for winter survival. The sub-zero air sparkles with frozen crystals – seeds that will become snow if the sun warms things up some.

Our back yard looks like a field of Bushes A La Mode – dollops of vanilla snow pile up on every surface. Fox footprints embed themselves in a deep white trail from northern clothesline to southern fence. The footprints are far apart and single file. This fox was in a hurry to hunt some mice and get back to her warm den. She should check our garage, where they’re hunkered down in a nest of packing peanuts under the cold cement steps.

Life is lived at a quieter, more desperate pace when an arctic blast arrives. Our rabbits stay in their room most of the day, fluffed in a two-part ball of sleep. When mealtime arrives, they gorge. We humans nap by the woodstove, softly snoring the cedar-warmed air.

I dream only of winter rest.