He drifts across snow,
like a shadow cast by vapor and
mist.
Myth made manifest in a stolen glimpse.
He is sighted, loping across a field of spent blizzard.
A blot of brown on a palid scape.
He glides, over granite.
He thrives on tundra.
A primal sentinel.
The glacier's guardian.
Arctic hermit.
American recluse.
Reaper of the peak.
he finds sustinance on
carrion.
Life from lifelessness.
Nomad of the North,
he roams his winter kingdom
on padded snowshoe paws.
Hooked claws honed on frozen
flesh and bone.
We regard each other across the expanse between us.
I in awe of the winter's last will o' wisp.
This last warrior from a primal
age.
He looks through me rather than at me.
Seeing past me to the horizon,
to the glorious glaciers beyond.
He turns away and lopes on
into his desired desolation.
He travels away from me,
vanishing from view.
Leaving me alone
upon this frozen shelf of
ice and time.
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