Posting this one to earthweal.
Cold comes in the answer
and snow in the wind,
furrows fill with white, while
growling incandescence consumes
branch and twig
in our invocation of the sun we have lost
in the dark night of winter.
In the morning,
the embers cold and pitted with deer tracks,
ash streams, the wind still bitter.
Ice cracks in the north
with a dark voice full of teeth,
and in the wood
a thrush is singing.
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Jane Dougherty Writes 
I love the last stanza. With our snowy morning, I feel kinship, the mysterious tracks in the snow. Even our cat can’t slink around undetected.
The snow gives them all away. I have to make do with looking in the mud for prints as we rarely have snow here. I’ve lived in the north of England though so I have first hand (freezing) experience!
Thank heavens for the singing of a thrush at such cold, dark times!
Yes! The thrush sings when the other birds are saving their strength. Only the robin occasionally has a burst of song.
Such beautiful, vivid imagery–yes, the thrush song and the glimpse of spring to come.
The other morning I walked by a tree and a cardinal started singing, and there were other birds about–it was like a private concert on a winter day.
Sometimes I hear another bird or two, but to have several singing when you know there’s not much for them to sing about is magical.
I agree.
A wonderfully wintery poem. I especially love the thrush singing in the wood.
Thanks Sherry. It’s the first thing I hear when I open the door in the morning.
The terror at winter solstice was that the light wouldn’t come back — that winter would become an enveloping mouth of ice — but there’s that plucky lil’ thrush singing relax, pal. Amen.
Birds, thrush and robin in particular, must have helped early people get through the dark months. I’m an early person.
A dark voice full of teeth…that’s winter. Blue jays don’t exactly sing, but they certainly keep making their presence known wherever I go. (K)
They’re very conversational birds from what I’ve heard. They can’t all be singers.
They like to make their presence known.
🙂
What a beautiful poem. It reads like it could be put to music – a plaintive folk song in the celtic tradition perhaps. It is quite haunting.
Thank you, Suzanne. It does have a pagan feel to it. I don’t think thrushes recognise any gods but their own.
I love the way you built up the snow and ice in your poem and then cracked it open with a thrush’s song, Jane. My favourite lines and phrases that made me shiver: ‘growling incandescence consumes / branch and twig’ and ‘a dark voice full of teeth’ – ice and snow may muffle, but you’ve captured the underlying sounds.
Thanks Kim. Hearing a thrush singing while I’m braving the early morning frost taking dog to toilet then feeding the birds fills the silence. So clear.
Wonderful imagery Jane and the close is pure perfection. Love it.
Anna :o]
Thank you, Anna 🙂