Snow Clouds

The clouds 
are threaded 
with mountain-pink, 
and
the kind of 
muted purple 
that reflects from 
pondwater 
as it lies still 
at the moment of dusk, 
and the ravens 
blink the snow away,  
calling in their 
Cascade dialects, 
throaty songs
that catch
in the fir needles 
like sunlight,  
and the snow 
falls in patches 
between the canopy 
and atop the bare-toothed elderberry 
and the crisped spirea blossoms, 
and on the other side,  
against the hill,  
the late winter sun 
drifts its shadow,  
and the cedars bask,  
their feathered leaves dripping, 
leaving impressions 
in the soft banks of snow.