Grinnell Oak Tree

It wasn’t an owl I heard this time
just the wind
winding its hollow way
stirring up a lonely moan as it passed.

The moonlight cascade
held in the chill
and
preserved the stillness
of the snow suffocated ground
not interrupting.

The clear night hung stars on the branches
of the trunk I leaned against for comfort
from the silence.

I stood my ground,
and poured my warm, moist breath
into the wintery air.