by Michael Shoemaker

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Winter could have been conspicuous

showy or ostentatious

if not for its timorous silence.

No rustling of dry leaves

as a deer approaches.

The babbling brook is bound

in congealed ice.

No exasperating droning of

neighborhood lawnmowers.

Not a bumble bee buzz,

as I sit in my front porch chair

drumming nearly noiselessly

with my fingers in warm woolen mittens.

It seems as if winter has given up on sound

and I am consoled that all that is left is

the tender tinkling of wind chimes

over frosted frozen fields.

 

© Michael Shoemaker

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Michael Shoemaker (he/him) is the author of a poetry and photography collection, Rocky Mountain Reflections (Poets’ Choice, 2023). His writing has appeared in Littoral Magazine, The High Window, Blue Lake Review and in anthologies at Poetry Pacific and Pure Slush. He lives in Magna, Utah with his wife and son where he enjoys looking out on the Great Salt Lake every day. He is an editor for the Clayjar Review. His hobbies include pickleball, tennis, golf, hiking and keeping his cat out of his chair. 

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