Linda B. Gamble
Slanted white streamers streaked
the sky last night. Snowflakes
plastered windows, trees trembled,
bowed to an unseen force, sagged
with icy weight. Houses creaked,
groaned against the onslaught.
Morning, stillness. Sky’s
a milky white. Unending flakes
float featherlike in gentle swirls.
We sigh into sweat suits, slip
into fuzzy slippers, savor
breakfast’s French toast. Later
we’ll prepare a hearty soup,
its steamy aroma filling the air,
enjoy a hot cup of tea, a good book.
Tomorrow we’ll wage winter’s
war with scraping shovels,
roaring snow-blowers, grit
and determination, but today
white bunting wraps each limb,
lies down upon the barren ground
shrouds earth’s desolation.
Silent as a baby’s dream
spring sleeps on beneath.