It was a pleasant evening though it was bitter cold.

A sheet of crystals had formed on last evening's snow

silent as if the world stopped breathing

save for our feet upon the road.

All of that was to change little did we know.

We could swear it was thunder

just beyond the trees.

A crack of ice like lighting

that struck your very being.

Chaos on its way heard within the roar

the howl of coyotes at a crescent moon.

God of winter waged his war.

Silent flight ravens soared above Goat Wall

lofty witness the murder flew to the forest call.

She held me tight and I held her close to me.

Cavalcade of ice and rock then the snap of trees

Brave the tree line stood before the ensuing tide

but nothing could have stood

the fall of ice off Goat Wall that night.

Silent as if the world stopped breathing

the night became once more.

The God of winter had reaped his wrath upon the valley floor.

Goat Wall had shed its burden.

We were out for a winter's evening stroll.

Again the night became silent so silent

save for our feet upon the road.

A poem by “The Wise Old Man on Mount Gardner," Steven C. Johnson