Three short scenes make up this winter poem, and each is built around a hard, bare stillness. In the first, an owl has flown out of the conifers, and the silence of its flight matches the silence it leaves behind in the trees. Owls are known for flying quietly, so the quiet feels like part of the bird itself.
The second stanza turns blunter. A frozen cow carcass lies in the snow, and chickadees, tiny and ordinary, are feeding on it. The word "enormous" could describe the carcass, or the silence, or both, and the poem lets that stay open. Death here is simply part of how the season works, and life carries on at small scale.
The last stanza looks up at bare branches and compares them to forks. The sky becomes a dish "best served cold," a twist on the saying about revenge. The speaker seems calm and watchful, a little wry, taking in the harshness without flinching. The mood is stark and quiet, with a dry humor cutting through the chill.