I ran with him in snow circles tonight,
trying to touch him as he scudded past.
I lumbered, gasping clouds, and fell at last.
On he flew, black blur, silent in delight,
churning whispered plumes of powdered white.
The brake by the lagoon was mute and gray,
and as the snow again began to fall
we stopped and listened, as if for a call,
a message from some ancient hunting day,
and stood still, singleminded, long away.
~~~~~~~~~~
Douglas Logan
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