The field gleams white and cold.
The sky is lonely and vast.
Jackdaws circle above the pond
And hunters descend from the forest.
A silence dwells in black treetops.
A firelight flashes from the cottages.
Sometimes a sleigh rings in the distance
And slowly the gray moon climbs.
On the ridge a deer bleeds softly to death
And ravens splash in bloody gutters.
Reeds tremble yellow and tall.
Frost, smoke, a footstep in the empty grove.