covers the earth
under a soft, white
quilt,
flake, by flake,
by flake,
persistently,
but with no rush.
Each flake
a tiny piece of creativity
unlike it's neighbour,
yet similar enough
that they form
first a tiny skiff,
then a fine line,
then, almost without notice,
they pile
one on top of the other
until they are shoe high,
boot high,
perhaps knee high.
The trees,
branches outstretched,
capture what they can
as it floats by them.
The chickadees
and nuthatches
pay little attention.
They know where the feeders are —
the feeders that are refilled
regularly,
mysteriously,
so there is always
enough.
The puppies
cavort and frolic
in this new experience.
The older dogs
take note,
but when their needs are met,
snooze again,
inside,
before the fireplace,
dreaming of soft green grass
and a thousand summer smells
that have
temporarily
vanished.
It is the humans
who fret
of impassible lanes and streets
of snow-cluttered sidewalks.
Soon enough
they will don their winter vestments
and travel to
their office tower
or single-storied shop,
or perhaps,
with shovel in hand,
ease the cover
over to the sidewalk's edge
so others may pass.
Only a few,
perhaps with camera in hand,
will marvel at the scene
with a relaxed cup of cocoa
and an eye
for the
artistry.
