A Fall Of Snow
Contributed by Nan Potts
A snowfall.
A tree, whose dark, stark branches bear a burden of white icy down, soft to the touch.
A bird, small, yet, iconic in identity of character, performs acrobatics among said branches,
makes snow fall whilst it chirps, heralds a season’s arrival, as another departs.
A grey day.
A Fall, before the Solstice, Winter’s deepest darkness, is transmuted from gold to white.
A road, with delicate tracks of fox and rabbit and deeper impressions of moose and man,
converge then diverge, separate intentions and havens, an opus of their journeys.
The sunrise.
The glow, as salmon fleshed clouds drift, as to spawn, in an aquarium sky, toils to illuminate.
The shadow, Sol, its Autumn travel, low in the heavens, lays hidden behind snow mantled
mountains, an umbra spreads across lands and homes, muting light.
The hoarfrost.
The eaves, sharp icy crystals cling, resist gravity’s draw to lay among the fallen snow.
The chill, seeps through hides and garments, pierces skin and penetrates to bone, issues
shivers throughout body and limbs, strangely comforts.
The quiet.
The still, hasty movements and harsh sounds, yet to rupture the tranquility contrived.
The peace, consoles and cheers with silent voice, envelopes spirit with liberal serenity, a time to
reflect, refresh and reawaken.
A soft voice.
A breeze, wafts high in the treetops, enticing the snowflakes to tumble from boughs.
A sound, a gentle whisper, mingles with contented sighs, gives to the mellifluous chorus of
branch and breeze, Nature’s metronomes.
The bird songs.
The noise, clicks and tweets from near and far-off, the original surround-sound.
The game, each chick-chick of Chickadees, neep-neep of Nuthatches vocalize, address and
announce the news, played daily in field and at feeder.
Joyful noises, fleet activities, ripple the stillness of this lingering Fall dawn.
Flora, fauna, join together in artful strains of harmonies, dedicate songs to the transition of
season — All begins with a bird, a tree and a fall of snow.