Sabbath on the Page, Winter

What can you hear in a 
       winter sky? Trees
       sleeping, sap coursing
       slowly stopped by 
       these northern climes and
       their accompanying chill.
The sound of sunlight, settled
       like a theater's best ending,
       shadowplay kept for
       juncos and chickadees.
Gray like warm flannel on a 
       winter's night by the
       fire, celestial feathers
       cover like a goose's wing
       over her chicks.

I tune my pencil, painting
       this poem of treesound, cloudstill
       and year's end, listening
       for tomorrow's song.