A graceful deer lifts the quiet air, Hooves brushing stars from fallen snow. The world holds its breath as she leaps, Brown and bright against the white hush below.

Frost clings to her lashes like lace, Her breath a small cloud, warm and brief. She moves as if stitched from silence, A prayer with legs, a wandering belief.

Each bound is a whisper of wonder, Each landing a bell softly rung. In the blue hour of winter’s keeping, She carries the wild where it’s young.

Then gone—like a thought you meant to keep, Back into the trees she danes and flows. Leaving only the mark of a heartbeat Pressed gently into the snow.

Photo Credit Julia Williams Poetry MotherBear_eth