It was still dark when
I woke up this morning.
I turned on the porch light
and saw glitters of soft snowflakes
twirling about in the blackness.
The world was quiet.
Crisp.
Cushioned in white blanket
of silence.
I love the untouched snow.
The smooth glaze of an untrod yard,
the neatness of a snowy path- not taken,
the undisturbed porch steps -
with nothing but tiny bird toes
making a pattern in the powder.
There is no sound but the wind.
A hazy whisper in the pine trees-
a whistle in the fence row-
it's delicate fingers across the wind chimes.
Soon the snow plow will barrel down the road,
pushing piles of dirty snow and gravel
to rest in hills until it melts.
Cars soon pass.
The trash man's dump truck
heaves like a giant dinosaur-
and the silence is broken.
Footprints muddle the yard-
shovels ruin the pathway-
kids throwing snowballs
twist the white wonder
into imperfect patterns of boot prints.
Tiny birds flee.
Laughter swallows the wind.
Life winds up... and pitches.
I close the curtains.
Curl up with my coffee and a blanket.
Read for awhile by the soft lamplight.
And my day begins.
