in the winter
the long
seemingly infinite winter
the cold winds blown in
from distances
so vast, we have yet
to travel them
and the ice,
building upon itself
layers and layers
of years and years
evidence
of the history
of our kind, here
in these snowy hills
the eyes
in the forests
once penetrating and vibrant
long gone
perhaps themselves
frozen into the landscape,
or wise enough to traverse
the darkness, and find a way out