Return of the Hunters

Frozen water-wheel,
icy horizon,
numb-footed hunters disconsolate,
glum.
Their tread is heavy
in Breugel's chosen moment,
even the dogs droop.
Winter's hold is hard,
yet birds still fly.
Skaters spin their hopes
of spring into the surface
of the ice. Whorls
and curlicues
and vortexes, fling
everyone from one season
into another, tornadoes
and thunderstorms waiting
to make us fondly recall
the still certainties of snow.