Silence and the Cold

I live in a cabin in the woods, seven or so miles outside of Rapid City, South Dakota. Two hundred feet from my door runs a creek, striving for the sea, rushing down rocks, following an immutable call. An inch of snow has fallen, and the trees and meadow are covered in a cold blanket. And with the snow and cold comes silence. The birds have gone south and those that remain are huddled in their holes. The deer, so alive a month ago, have moved on. The squirrels have buried their seeds and now rest in hollows. The wind is holding its breath and the trees are quiet. I hear no nature and I hear no human. My world is silent, except for the sounds I make in fear of the silence. In this place, this patch of earth, I am alone.