The crackle of sleet stings against the bedroom window.
Early I wake.
I find my way through a darkened house.
Quietly peering through a window to
understand the night.
Clinging to the screen was a perfect icy line.
Traveling north to south.
Indiscriminately skipping the odd fine metal square
on its gravitational journey.
Glistening.
The hushed sounds of a storm.
Snow piled by the many inches long before dawn.
Glimpses of a deep bluish black night
through the filter of snow.
A murky beacon just down the drive.
A barn light struggled to illuminate the night.
I wondered about the natural inhabitants.
Sheltered deep within the woods, I hoped.
The forest floor now coated.
Large pine trees bend in acknowledgement.
Branches heavy, moisture laden.
An hour for sleeping.
I returned to the warm familiar comfort so
readily taken for granted.
Lulled back I was to an easy slumber.
A pick-up truck grinded up the drive. The slam of the plow, muffled.
Gravel churned up.
Soiling what was momentarily pristine.
Dormant gardens dusted in white.
Hilltops, blurred.
A rugged serenity outside my kitchen window.
The coffee brewed strong.
