No one on the towpath
but me, pressing against an icy wind.
The blaze that swept through the trees
has died down to a flicker,
the only song the thin note
of a chickadee
flitting from one bare limb to another.
Overnight the muddy steps of yesterday’s hiker
froze into place. The air tightens.
Everything that lives leaves
or deepens into its core.
The turtle buries itself,
slows its breathing
and begins its long dream of the sun.