Dave Bonta's poem is a close, affectionate portrait of the snow flea, a tiny springtail that shows up as dark specks on late-winter snow. He begins with how hard it is to picture one alone, since a lone speck would vanish against the white. In groups, they leap about unpredictably, and the poem suggests this chaos is their protection. He compares them to "unquiet seeds" no bird would want to bother with.
The second half piles up odd facts: the creature's antifreeze-like blood, its constant molting, and its tidy method of reproduction, where the male leaves a packet and the female collects it later. The speaker sounds amused and quietly admiring, with a dry wit in phrases like "all reproduction is by post." The mood is playful but attentive. The ending, where the fleas return to the soil's "dark goulash," makes the cycle of seasons feel humble, practical, and oddly comforting.