Crystaline towers arise from the frozen floor,
frozen white in a frozen world.
Once productive, reproductive -
Ice forming on cold seed heads.
There is no wind.
No movement in the scene,
save blackbirds, thrushes and robins
squabbling over fallen seed,
cast by a caring hand.
They race fluttering by until-
at once, they land.
The trees are stalwart in the face of the coldest hours.
Only stars and stones could seem more lasting.
The whole garden is a crystal construct.
Ice refrozen over a half dozen days.
I feel one step onto the sheet,
and the whole land will shatter.