A Winter's Day

First Movement

I look out from my bedroom window,

Stare downward toward the glist'ning snow,

A blanket deep upon the hillside,

How deep exactly none can know.

No thing protrudes above the whiteness,

Save cherry tree trunks wet and dark.

And each sports narrow stripes of brightness

The wind has stenciled on their bark.

The snow and wind gave way this morning,

Though no small footprints have appeared

To break the stillness or give warning

That living creatures venture near.

In clean unbroken lines the snow drifts

Are swept into elliptic curves,

No defects tread upon their neatness,

A sense of order is preserved.

Second Movement

This silent scene gives way to laughter

The slam of doors and running feet,

As children sprint outdoors to master

This world of snow they rush to greet.

Each architect builds forts and castles,

And Igloo shapes are mounded high.

Each engineer builds icy runways

As speeding sleds attempt to fly.

Each skater seeks out perfect circles

Scripting letters one by one,

And every message has its answers

Blurred by peeping mid-day sun.

The snow makes every child an artist,

With brushes made of hands and feet,

All painting angels in the snow-drifts,

And sculpting souls for them to greet.

Third Movement

Their mother calls them from the doorway,

Her shawl wrapt tight against the cold.

They leave behind snowballs and castles,

A new-born snowman stands alone.

The snow begins to fall again now,

Like coral sand washed from the sky,

I gaze out from fog-rounded windows,

For features to judge distance by.

The children's random maze of footprints

Grow smooth and round, no longer hard,

Their day's adventures now are only

Slim dotted lines across the yard.

The snowman's carrot nose now features

A stenciled line that's all his own,

His smile takes on a certain softness,

As hour by hour his visage grows.

Fourth Movement

The fine white grains continue falling,

The dunes of snow grow more complete;

The wind-whipped spray among them rolling,

With swirls that tread like dancing feet.

The cold is falling with the darkness,

The fog on windows turns to ice.

Accumulated layers of whiteness

Now fade into the grey of night.

All signs of romping feet in daytime

Grow smooth and rounded in the dark,

The centers of each foot and boot print

Now match the black of cherry bark.

The snowman's carrot nose glows faintly,

A dull receding orange spark,

His oreo eyes are filling slowly,

Their hollows squinting in the dark.

Back