Snow

Snow folds our neighbourhood in a silence deep and white.

Every cedar, every pine, every fir tree wears a soft downy cloak of silver. The fences are laden with snowy pearls. As flurries of snow rush to the earth, it is a silent business. Snowflake after snowflake: some hover, some hurtle, some drop swiftly, some settle in slowly. They zig-zag. They whirl. They dance.

As, myriads by myriads madly chased,

They fling themselves from their shadowy height.
The fair, frail creatures of middle sky,

What speed they make, with their grave so nigh;

Flake after flake......

They transform the world. Old familiar sights take on strange shapes: garden fences, brush-piles and electric poles look like strange domes and towers. A flower-pot looks like an ice-cream cone. A clothes-stand becomes a sheeted ghost.

Our tiny sphere is traced with nature's geometric lines.