Rebel in the Snow

In this chaos that is the snow, there is one, that is a rebel.

As people slip and slide, their cars entoumbed in ice and snow, there is one-who does not see it all as trouble.

The snow that causes trains, and buses and then cars to stop, brings hidden joys.

I sit drawn to its falling flakes as surely as my feet will freeze and circulation fail; were I to venture out.

My wheels will not move in its softness, I am captive, yes captive to its beauty; I am a rebel!

I will always love it.

Here, from within my prison, I watch it; seeing how it lights up the ceiling, brightly reflecting the sunshine.

The walls are lit with a lacy pattern; the nets are as a grey shadow, veiling it to me.

A myriad eyes peer out to watch it falling; softly its duvet settles on the bushes, covering the ground.

Winter’s harsh chilling winds, do not reach springs tender shoots now they have a blanket to protect them.

Children play and their voices hold delight! snowball fights abound as their fingers grow numb.

And the The Snowmen begin their silent invasion upon the land.

The smell of snow in the air, delights my nostrils! Yet pinches the noses of the toddlers, turning them red.

I love the way it deadens all sounds, making the world still and calm; as if all war had ceased.

By night it crackles; not by frost, nor train, or bus, or car, but the footfall of The Snowmen on the march.

The warming air rushes away in the night; but they live under the sparkle of the stars, unaffected.

Their path well illuminated for their eerie purpose; to silently and swiftly take over the land.

Every day it lingers; their ranks swell, and some in Calvin & Hobbes style, make me smile.

The news brings more disasters, power outages and tales of sprains and broken bones, I feel for you.

You walk upon its velvet, scooping it up, packing it in between your mittens, hurling it laughing.

While others curse it for the carefully crafted disruption that it brings, I secretly rejoice.

Salt, grit, shovels, ploughs, are no match for it. Its tiny form so small, built round a single speck of dust.

Glass cannot be crafted to match it, no two alike, it’s picture hard to take.

Ah yes photgraph its masses, the downy duvet it creates, but not its single portrait!

I am a Rebel! I delight in its arrival, and when The Snowmen march in their invasion I rejoice.

Despite all its tribulations, I enjoy its lacy form, its coating widespread on the land.

Too soon its gone, take time to see it, smell it, craft it, share in the invasion,

And Rebel in the Snow!

(Copyright first posted 2009)