I like the way the snow gathers in bare branches of the tree,
Replacing the fallen leaves with tufts of cotton ice.
And the way the cold tickles my skin;
More bitter and more gentle, at once,
Than the kindest days of Spring.
Most of all,
I love the silence at night.
The stars hanging above in the chilled sky.
Life has gone quiet,
And the world is at rest.
There’s no sound but the whispered season’s breath,
Caressing the countryside in faint gusts.
The wind scatters the fresh snow like silver dust,
Swirling before my eyes before it vanishes into the darkness.