Deep snow

This entry is part 23 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

In all this blankness,
a squirrel finds the precise spot
it buried a nut.

Breaking trail with snowshoes,
I choose to believe
I’m half-floating, not half-sinking.

Clumps of snow sail off the trees,
making a random scatter
of oblong prints.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).


  1. Just enough here to give the snow some outline. The rest is blankness, as the first line suggests. It’s quite nice.


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