The problem with always having your head in the clouds is you don't notice what you're tripping over! (Yes, that's my whole title)

The air is cold and clean
The ground is at once white from snow
And blue from the moon,
And orange from the streetlight.
This is not ordinary nature then,
But a magic world.

The girl walks firmly down the icy slope
Hands ready in her pockets, eyes watching the ground.
She shall make it safely down to the bottom of the hill.
I hardly notice her with my head tipped toward the sky
Tongue out and searching for the drifting snowflakes
Oops-- boot slips-- and I am down and sliding
Towards the hill's bottom.

Friction warms the ice beneath me
Tongue still out, laughing past the solid-ice girl
I hit level ground before her and carefully stand
My buttbones ache with the solid crack of the sidewalk
But I am happy, giddy with adrenaline
Having caught that elusive snowflake
That now melts sweetly on my tongue.
I stand savoring, giggling, and the girl plods by
And I plod after her.
Even after the giddy pain of ice and snow
There is still work on unmoving earth.