Bucky by Sean Thrane

The cold wood creaking The turn of the owl’s head The branches in the wind The echoing cracks of the frozen lake The ghosts emerging from the lungs of animals The icicles on the trees The big brown eyes Wet nose, making fog Breath after breath The mountains of snow on the boney structures Avalanches every few minutes The twitching of the ears The crunch of the snow under the hooves The click of a camera Silence. As you know he heard it The silence in the forest Too much noise for the buck He walks away And you exhale for the first time in minutes

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