A View From My Window

A View From My Window Perched high above the tree line A lofty place to be, A birds-eye view of roof tops And smoking chimney's. Rising higher than the eye can see, Spiral rings take flight, Riding on the playful wind, Like string-less kites; vanish out of sight. A sleepy village awakens To a blanket of pristine snow, Gaily glazing abandoned fields, Where flowers use to grow. Window panes are frosted In delicate scalloped lace, Fences stand like sentinels, Wearing a bearded face. Clerical collars band wooden columns, Whose ledges are built of stone, And flirtatious flakes, congregate, A textured pattern all their own. Eaves, hard line edges, Now swathed in frothy white, A creamy marshmallow icing; An illustrated, storybook delight. As daylight turns to dusk, And street lamps begin to glow, The drifting snow keeps rising, With peace and calm below.