Even before it arrives,
You can feel it.
The air is cold, but not dead.
If anything,
It is more alive.
Whispers;

Whispers;


Whispers.
The butterflies congregate
And feed on the anticipation.
You know it’s coming.
You can practically hear it arrive.

A great blanket.
It will be there when you wake.
As your eyes flutter open hours later,
You sense it;
Almost as if your body prepared itself
Before your consciousness returned.

And there it is:
Everything you could have hoped for –
And more.
It hurts to look at:

Glaring;


Invading;



Stark.
But you brave the pain in your eyeballs
Because it is beyond beautiful.

Nothing will ever do it justice.
So unspoiled;
So clean;
So pure.

The world is beautiful.
No one could see it
And think otherwise.
It has a whimsical effect.
It’s comforting
And exciting.
A phenomenon I grew up with,
But could never grow tired of.
It’s finally arrived:

The first snow of the season.