By Charley Dobson

A snug gray blanket covers the sky.

The air’s white freckles float above the ground’s creamy complexion

No two are alike. I’ve forgotten the explanation.

A slightly open window makes the house a whistle in the wind

The snow is whirled round like white crinolines at a dance.

The spring’s steady flow makes icicles long and thin.

Children’s faces stand before the windows in a trance.

They put on heavy coats and thick mittens

Before going out to play.

“Don’t go out without your hat.”

A hot cup of chocolate will still the chill.

Milk, cocoa, and sugar are the mixture.

I’m going to Woody Lake to take a picture.

The snow crunches with each step I take

To see the ice upon the lake.

Barren spots where new grass failed to grow

Are hidden beneath the snow.

Every piece of hard rough ground

Is made soft and smooth

by the snow’s slowly drifting mound.

I think I see a baby bear.

Under the hemlock!  See it there?

With plenty of wood in the shed

The fireplace makes a friendly glow through the night

Tired from the day’s excitement

Children snuggle in their beds.

One last question before they sleep,

Did you see Heath on the sled?

A cold flake on baby’s cheek

Brings a surprised child’s cry.

The parents gently laugh and together

hold him in love’s warm embrace.

As I cross the slippery bridge

Across the boldly flowing creek

I see Bill’s old barn with sagging ridge.

It shelters a family of mice from the storm.

Timbers under the load of snow groan and creak

As the aged barn leans a little more.

The mice run and in panic squeak

For the mice all is not at peace

The barn’s snow burden threat is unknown.

But an owl sits upon a beam.

A yellow jonquil slowly lifts

It’s green bud through the drifts.

Raising through the snow their welcome heads

Planted with loving care in ever spreading beds.

Boys write in the snow

With nature’s golden flow.

Trails of rabbit tracks in the snow

Show the hounds which way to go.

As slowly grows beauty in the trees

So does the flowing poetry.

Hemlocks lacy burdened boughs

Shelter some of Charles’ resting cows.

In the store the hot coffee flows

As Ned tells of other deeper snows.

Snow covered branches burdened down

Gently draping to the ground

Cross our road like a fallen arbor’s arch

Not unlike our first Suches March.

O’ that the peace that we know here

Could be felt round earth’s total sphere.

It is too cold for me to get out this morning, so here is a picture of the little bridge made at Christmas in 2000.  I’m sure looks about the same this morning.