It is deep here,
this white stuff that
coats the ground,
then blankets it,
then envelopes it
and the world in
blinding white light.

The flakes and drifts
look bright white,
but really they are clear.
They sparkle like glass
in the pale sun,
but cast shadows of
blue and grey and lavender.

They are clear,
but cast shadows.
This is magical stuff.

It falls gentle from
the soft grey sky
into pillowy drifts
near four feet deep.

If even Skadi
needs snowshoes,
you do, too.

It is strange stuff,
snow.
In the woods,
it is soft and deep.
On the prairie,
it is sharp and
wind-driven.

Clean as the driven snow.

But for today,
I simply watch
from my cosy cocoon.
Wrapped in quilts
by the fire,
a cup of dark chocolate
warming my hand.

Tonight I will sleep.
But tomorrow?
An adventure.