by Emily Sorensen

by Loralee Clark

Today is a soft, dry snow.
You don’t hear it
hit the water,
only hear the pond
absorb the flakes,
slush,
then ice over.

The tree by the pond—
a beaver began to gnaw it down,
the bites sharp and sure,
the smooth chisels
a testament
to the iron in its teeth.

A female downy woodpecker
ticking along the curled river birch bark
looking for food;
I watch her, my face upturned,

snow melting on my cheeks,
the ridge of my nose—
transience of snow to water.

And the neighborhood cat
bounds down the road toward me
reveling in the muffled softness,
rubbing against my legs.

About the photographer: Emily Sorensen is an environmental educator, writer, and amateur photographer. She feels most at home in the woods or in the garden with her cats, and she recently completed a dissertation on ecological art and performance, receiving a Doctor of Fine Arts degree from Yale. She likes to go outside and take pictures of trees and things @emily.sorensen.