A slow whispering river,

shallow ice pools slosh.

A lone gray fox drinks,

cold shock of wet paws.

He fords the river quickly,

frozen mudbank crunching.

Above, snow rides wild currents;

a red-tailed hawk circles, and

descends into sycamore,

white bark lost in snowflake.

Fox and hawk exchange 

wary glances,

both predators hungry,

anxious, chilled.

The forest dissolves into

shrouds of white gauze.

Then nearby, a slight rustle 

of movement—quarry!

The animals instantly 

scan for motion,

alert to any minute change 

of color, shape or sound.

From above, the hawk swiftly parses 

ground, bush, and tree.

From below, the fox sniffs high

and fast for telltale scents.

Together they rake the forest, 

deep into the falling flakes,

defining direction, reducing scope,

pinpointing range, 

until they reach their target—

a single cedar, where

a branch bends and drops its 

load of snow with a dull thud.

Bird and fox stop, feel their hunger return, 

and move on.

A breeze follows them, stirring up 

puffs of fog along the river bank.

Undetected, a snow hare slips 

silently down her deep, safe hole.