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Poem

My boots crunch
As I walk
Across the frozen, bare woods
With, but a few hints
For what’s to come.

No thunder, no lightning, no wind
Predicts
This,
In winter,

But I see and hear the tiny signs

Like tsk tsk tsk
From a squirrel
Grinding its teeth
Round and round
Against the hat of an acorn
To unlatch its meat.

And then,
From just above the trees,
On this afternoon
Of Christmas Eve,

Snowflakes
Suddenly storm
And swoosh
Like parachutes,
Filling
The bombarded air
While gliding below

To the clear.

The confetti of snow
Taps
The leaves
Crinkled
On the ground,

Sounding
Like the sizzle of grease
In a pan.

My boot prints
Come to life,
Fingerprints brushed with powder,
Tracing my way
Back
From the center of the forest
To the red door of my house
And its frost-cracked windows,

Where just inside
My Christmas tree
Bends its branches
To catch
The push
Of powdered snow

From my shoulders.

The tree shivers
And glitters
With tinker bells and green balls
At the feel of Christmas snow
Entangled
On its needles
For those few, precious seconds,

Time enough to make a wish
To the Star
For the both of us.

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