A deep cold descends on the North East
And Walden is lost in a long slow sleep.
The pond is white, the sky is white,
Flecks of flakes
Slant across my face.
The mist hangs off in far away trees,
Strung like endless lights on light.
Echoes howl from the captive flow
Frozen beneath my feet
From distant coves to the nearer shore.
I walk on Walden not within.
Tracks through the dusty powder snow.
The trail of a skater
Arms flung wide
Swaying in rhythm with winter time.