Snow Day
Sleepy trees remain still
in the cool, crisp air
as joyful sparrows dart from tree to tree.
Clouds in every shade of grey paint the sky,
and a silence
-heard only in the dead of winter-
is present.
Soon, a newborn breeze
begins to play a light sonata
on the delicate wind chimes above the porch.
The trees awaken to the music,
and stir restlessly.
I watch and wait silently with them.
My nose and cheeks turn to a light rouge color.
My skin begins to sting
from the escalating winter winds.
The blood in my fingertips stiffens.
My eyes become dry
and thirst for warmth and humidity.
As I turn to open the front door,
to blanket myself in the sultry air of the living room,
I feel a tiny cold bite
on my nose...
then on my cheek...
again on my lower lip...
My eyes drift upwards to scan the grey sky,
only to meet a cascade of what looks to be
millions of miniature specks of white cotton.
I allow the newcomers to penetrate the pink skin on my face,
and I open my mouth to taste their pureness--
a taste that cannot be imitated by any other.
I twirl in a whirlwind of circles,
arms outstretched,
eyes to the heavens.
My inner child has emerged,
and will bask in the
perfection
of this day.
Copyright © Veronica Merka | Year Posted 2006
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