Photo by Gamaliel Masters
Beyond the fields my world has disappeared, the guarding distant mountain, bone. The stenciled lace of twisted trees that mark the silenced river's winding course is lost, a blurred grey smudge enveloped in an opaque wall. Close by the window weed stalks rise stiffly from the ice-sliced snow feather hung with frost. My fence posts, in two meandering dark rows could guide escape if I could leave the warmth of home and brave the lonely stretch of fog-bound road. But over there, high in the top of his old tree a great bald eagle huddles in the cold and it is pretty plain to see that he has not intent to loose his tightly taloned hold.