The songs of the creek

Are silenced at its surface by a

Thick frozen wall,

So the wind

Creeps up leaf-covered hills

And climbs the trees,

Rustling their dried leaves

That hang

Like a billion beetle carcasses

Tacked on

Steel spider web branches.

It scratches out tunes

Until the creek

Can bear no more

And splits its icy barrier,

Proudly bubbling up superior melodies

And whipping the wind

Into froth, dashing it

Against the rocks.