Winter Magic

There’s something so magical
about a New England winter.
I don’t know if it’s the way the snow falls,
one night in November,
all at once:
a softy, downy blanket over the rolling hills 
and woods,
Or how
the lakes freeze over 
And are soon covered in the tracks 
of ice-skates,
Or how 
one of those wintry nights, everyone
Is safe and warm in their own houses, yet
watching the same snow fall 
Down,
down, 
down, 
together.

Or perhaps it’s how 
When I step outside one day,
A thousand falling snowflakes
Surround me,
the wind blowing them 
this way and that,
Swirling and spiraling over the landscape
In its glittering winter glory.

At night, the moon softly illuminates
their dance,
and snowflakes streak solid white
against the dark trees
Past the car windows.
I’d always pretend I was in Star Wars
and we were going into hyperspace,
Speeding past the stars—

In the daytime, the sun shines bright,
Reflecting on the icy crystals below,
Blinding all who dare venture outside,
or a pensive student glancing out a window—

My favorite time in winter, though, is
sitting in front of a fire, with a book,
Listening to my own thoughts
for awhile,
in rhythm with the crackling 
of the flames,
As big, soft, fluffy snowflakes fall outside,
tucking all of Nature in
For a peaceful night’s sleep.

Maybe we all have our own magic—
Unique, just like every individual snowflake
that falls from the sky
To the ground below.
And when all our magic intertwines,
The howling of the wind 
in a winter storm
Suddenly turns beautiful,
and sings through the trees.

I sit by the fire
and watch the snowflakes fall
Down,
down,
down;
my sister makes me laugh
And a tingling warmth
spreads from my head
to my fingertips
to my toes.
Surrounded by friends
and family—
That’s where 
my magic’s found.