Nine shadows burst from the treeline,
muscles coiled,
hooves shattering the frozen earth.
They race as if winter itself has awakened them,
a blur of sinew and breath,
carving trails through the unbroken white.

At the edge of the field, they pause—
bodies poised in quiet elegance,
every motion a hymn of grace.
Their dark eyes hold the edge of morning,
attuned to what is seen and unseen,
the whisper of wind,
the weight of snow,
the tremble of distant branches.

The sun spills across the snow,
light fracturing into gold and shadow.
Nine deer, still as prayer,
woven into the stillness of December,
as if they, too, marvel at the purity of the day’s first breath.

poem #poetry #deer #December #winter #snow