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Winter Night The snow piles wall and windowsill; soft and chill it blankets the rooftops. The moon throws a ghost-shadow over the whitened ground and not a sound is there in the night - magical night of winter. We roam far afield, drawn by the stillness of a world wrapped in Lady Winter's mantle, and ahead of us our tiny shadows run toward the black line of trees, sharp against the snow. Are you cold, you ask. Let me warm you, you say. But tonight is neither cold nor warm. Tonight is lifted from it's place, a night of alien proportions. We can hold one each other another time. Now, run with me to where the trees grow close, to where moonlight touches snow as silver lace, a fairy's footprint; and perchance we'll find the porthole to another world. All around the snow stretches blank; untouched - we are the first. Your face is sharply shadowed in the white light, muted, yet so unnaturally bright. Past the tumbled palisade, the snow sparkles. Along the wall snowberry peeps from beneath it's quilt of snow. My sleeve brushes it as we step over the broken stone, feather-powder dusting to settle on the ground. Our breath hangs in the air. There is nothing to mar this night but for it to end. So come with me to where forest meets field, the trees heavy with snow, and let us find a place to put this night, where it can never fade. |