running along the charles

the river lies quietly under its white covers,

waiting for spring to come and shake them off,

and on the riverbank,

an owl asleep on a branch

holds last night's catch fast in its claw--

a mouse-sized snack for later.

the frozen stillness

and the absence of color,

the world's slow breathing

on a winter morning,

i think i might prefer it

to the breezy shouts and splashing of summer.