I open the blinds
to feathery white
falling slowly, steadily,
like time in motion.

Swings, slide, and benches
have been blanketed to bed;
frothy topping layers the birdbath
like a huge cocktail for two.                                                          

The garden angel stands watch
with softly-tipped wings
and a cape of white ermine draped
above her praying hands.
On her head, she's sporting a fluffy beret—
tilted a la mode.

Sipping lightness, I watch
as the unseen Artist continues
to dust fine powdery sweetness,
highlighting branches, fences—
the entire landscape—making it
fresh, white, and bright—

And, like the New Year,
ready for footprints.


A variation of this poem appeared in Simple Awakenings (Linebyline Press, 2010).
Revised version used here with permission.