The Canyon Passes Its Winter

By Bliss Bonner

Yellow cliffs loom large,

veiled by wind-blown snow.

At their blanketed feet,

a stream like black jewels carries its ducks.

Sun beams down from a cloud-strewn sky

to the feathers of a magpie

and the bare branches of a stand of cottonwoods.

The road mirrors the train tracks,

reflects on sparkling water.

Rabbitbrush hugs the guardrails.

Juniper and sage watch from the shadows.

And so the canyon passes its winter.