Snow by the centimeter

Flakes as big as dinner plates.
Eat your fill,
And hope some's left for breakfast.

 Branch, icy veins, and

Teach what we already know:

Coldest of silence.

 

[ The Dude abides. ]

Night hunt: swan song

Like the great Julian Hussein Assange, I too have an indominable thirst for truth, no matter how ugly. And so it was that one night not too long ago that myself and my associate Sevan embarked once again on a mission. A mission to expose once and for all the after-hours habits of the bird-formerly-known-as-Swan. The brave can read on.

It began much like any other mission. The swan is an elusive beast, known to outwit even the most skilled tracker.

We followed the trail over many miles, passing untold numbers of festive impressionist light sculptures.

And took in the local fauna. 

It wasn't long before we came upon our first prize. But as every schoolgirl worth her salt knows, you can never feed just one swan. 

Before we knew it the rest of the squadron had assembled...

... and we set about bending them to our will. 

 Turns out swans (and ducks alike) are ape for candy corn. What's that, our corn subsidies are wasted on high fructose candies? Tell that to the wildlife. [ Note also the German tourist mocking the ugly swan in the background. ]

Hardly the brightest. All the better for a devastatingly efficient winged army. Bow down as the spirit moves you.