In just three short lines, this haiku-like poem catches the moment winter loosens its hold. The ice on a pond or stream is melting, and the trees that had been mirrored in its surface seem to take their images back, as if the reflections were something borrowed and are now being returned.
That small shift in perspective is what makes the poem work. Trees can't actually retrieve anything, yet the verb makes them feel alive and purposeful, almost like creatures waking up. The title, "Animist," points the same way: it suggests a view of the world in which trees and other natural things have a kind of spirit or life of their own.
The speaker doesn't announce any feeling directly. Instead, the quiet observation suggests wonder and gentle delight. The mood is fresh and still, with a sense of renewal. Nothing dramatic happens, but the reader is left looking at the thaw with new attention, noticing how the world seems to be stirring and putting itself back together.