Given the cutting cold, you could wish, of course,
to pull the covers over your head, to burrow in
until the thermometer’s thin red line
stretched a few dozen marks higher.
But then you would miss this crystal blue morning,
this bright, stark, shimmering day.
You would miss the ground-diamond sparkle
of the powdery snow rising around your boots
as you hiked to the edge of the lake.
You would miss this silence so complete
that you can hear the breathing of the trees.