Sometimes it comes in silence
Drifting slowly like single,
White feathers floating on air
That vanish to liquid
Upon touching ground.
Sometimes it comes in turbulence
Swirling in swarms
To create white walls
That blinds our view and
Builds to drifts that block our path.
Once settled, the world brightens
For in its whiteness it is unequaled,
Only surviving within the sharp,
Biting frost of winter air.
It’s only voice comes as a crunch
Beneath our boot-clad feet;
Yet it brings cries of joy from youthful play
As we slip and slide along its surface
And mold it amid our hands to shapes
Sparked within our enchanted dreams.