a dusting but enough to thrill the soul
after years of abstinence.
Barren branches boast pristine white coats
and a child looks excitedly through the window
but although they'll be no snowball fights today
freezing Arctic winds have now blown this way.
The sunrise paints the horizon with gold
before the colour fades like a fallen rose
and the snow drips and drops with tears
from the fingers of the sumac tree
as a magpie glides across the grass.
This transient beauty will not last
but I breathe its glory...before it's past.