Late night, with the moon crystal blue on the snow, reflecting back up into the ice fog hovering in the air. Silence heavy, nothing stirring, far away from traffic and street lights.
Gracefully the two of them seemingly tiptoed through the banks and drifts of snow. They paused occasionally, watching and listening. They ventured further, staying close to each other but making their way in the moonlight.
They crossed a clearing, moving a little quicker, leery and anxious. They stepped carefully, finding just the right spot. Buried under the drifts of snow, tiny tomatoes, frozen and forgotten on the vine.
One dipped her head, nosing around in the snow covered plant, emerging after a moment or two. The other, standing guard, waits his turn. And she returns the favor, eyes alert, ears perked, for the slightest whisper or rustle, while he reaches his long neck down to the tomatoes.
And off in the distance, another couple come out of the trees, emerging like ghosts. Still far enough away to seem like shadows, just barely darkening the brush as they pass, but suddenly into the clearing and silhouetted against the snow.
They join the first two at the edges of the garden, pulling on the sunflower heads, weighed down by the snow, just within reach. And the four of them stayed for quite some time. Then, like silence itself, moving swiftly, they disappear into the distance, vanishing like mist.
