Nov 01

A Winter Walk

My boots sink into the deep unpainted canvas of snow.
Naked trees tower over me, their limbs dusted with a white grace.
The pale sun rises late, greeted by silence instead of sound,
Life muffled under a heavy blanket of snow.
Tiny flakes fall lightly from the grey sky,
Each one an unidentical part of a seemingly identical white world;
Each one melting on my tongue.
Smokey perfumes of dying fires mingle with rich scents of frigid air.
My eyes sting against the bitter cold,
And my nose turns pink, poking out from behind my scarf.
Icicles line the bottom of every branch,
Their drips captured in a still and frozen form.
There are no sounds of forest life,
Every being snuggled above or below the snow in a warm cave of wintery solitude.
As the frail light of the sun reaches my face,
I sink down onto my knees,
Landing gently in safe canopy of pillowy snow.
I can almost see the chill wind swirling around me,
And the fast falling snow flakes began to coat my exposed and still face,
But wrapped in the heavy blanket of winter, I am warm.