Does falling snow make a sound?
Stop and listen …
snowflakes softly pelt upon my ski jacket,
a muffled crunch as I cross-country upon flat terrain,
the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of the skis
as I attempt to stay tall upon the downward gentle slope.
I pause to notice the cedar trees laden with snow on the
leeward side from whence the snow storm stems.
following alongside the path my four-legged, white-tailed friends’ tracks make.
Now they scatter from their thicket resting place
as I approach near.
They venture just to the other side of the small ravine,
watching me through the limbs of the trees
and thicket, silently,
wondering who disturbs their peace
on this softly cascading crystalized morning.
I puff quietly to ascend a tricky spot.
Riddled with tall, dead, field grasses, and small, red berry bushes,
snag at my ski pants.
Upon the crest of the hill,
I hear the twitter of the blue bird
as she flutters to a low bearing branch.
Despite the gray skies and white falling snow,
she still appears blue against the gray landscape.
From behind the barn
I now emerge
with the house in view.
The morning journey now ends.