Four short scenes of a snowy landscape make up this poem, and what ties them together is attention. The speaker notices what is left behind: owl calls at the edges of the day, skid marks where a rabbit slid into a ditch, deer tracks filling up with fresh snow. The animals themselves are mostly unseen. We only get their traces, or their voices in the dark.
The title's odd claim, that the snowbound springhouse is "anything but white," is the poem's turning point. It suggests that up close, snow and whitewash aren't the plain white we expect, and that looking carefully changes what we see. The line "All day long, just words" hints at a speaker who feels the gap between language and the living world, and who is happier when watching than when talking.
The mood is quiet, patient and a little wondering. Nothing dramatic happens, but the speaker seems content to stand still and let the cold, hushed place show its details.