“…Snow is falling
Over river and woodland and wold;
The trees bear spectral blossom
In the moonshine blurr’d and cold…”
John James Piatt (1835 – 1917)

While dreaming one night,
Winter arrived in my dream.
I felt crisp snow
crackling under my feet,
while misty visions of
whiteness blanketed the earth.

Frozen images, encased
in Winter’s woolen hours,
leaped to and fro,
as my dream-thoughts
merged with old visions
causing me to feel the essence
of my youthful memories.

I watched with my sleeping mind’s eye,
as the moon’s silver beams
painted a placid pond’s smooth,
icy surface with a grayish white.

I listened to the shivering winds,
that were hidden in the shadows of clouds,
and sensed the land was being covered
with layers of soft, whitish dust,
creating a wonderland of silvery silence.

I saw my breath flowing like a magic mist
through the fleeting hours of the night,
as flakes of white soared
in the air like angels gliding in the sky,
and I felt a sense of anticipation for
the coming season.