The blizzard is a glistening, ice cold wall,
Howling storms muting the whirring of machines.
The plane dips and swerves, dodging the falling frost,
Pilot blinded by overpowering white.
Then the snowstorm stops breathing, the winds become still.
Icebergs appear on the tidal wave of dawn
Cut by blunt saws, buoyed in air rather then frozen seas,
Though the wind is still brittle, and chills to the bone.
The plane is still gliding, flight smoother now, as
Pilot glances at watch. He is behind scheduled time.
Beneath him is a glittering desert of cold,
Nothing is moving. Nothing can be seen
With the naked eye. Because down on the white
Expense of ground, a mound of snow shudders as
A piece of coal twitches, ice slides off twin rocks.
The snow is alive, moving, but it is not
Snow at all. The majestic bear rears up high
His cape of freezing flakes do not chill him as he
Roars at the plane flying into the horizon
This kingdom of ice and snow is his once more.