On snowy days I like to walk along the lane a little,
I cross the field up to the pond where ice sits, thin and brittle,
turning into a sudden gust, my breath is briefly taken,
the treetops lose their powdery wigs, as they are easily shaken,
Then the air is still again, and the hoot of an owl is heard
perched on a nearby branch sits he, looking proud, and a little absurd!
The snow capped hills stand out against the sky, still dull and grey,
yet an even more majestic sight than on any summers day
with granite face and steely stare they will calmly sit and wait
for the day when lush green meadows form, to cover their silvery pate,
I pull up my collar and turn toward home, where I'm greeted with warmth and with light
So grateful to know that the magic is here, but I don't have to stay out all night!