In the long dark hours of night
Snow fell.
I stand four stories tall
Upon my tiny deck.
With joy I breathe the air
So cold and sharp
I feel cleansed from cell
To soul.
I sweep my sight down and back
The long line of fir and cedar,
Elder trees of a hundred years
Standing shoulder to shoulder,
My most constant friends.
Today each wears
A wrap of white tall and
Glistening in fall from the sky.
Brides of Christ?
Travelers of the Haj?
Or just old friends of the Creator?
Eventually I look downward
Upon a world made pure and simple,
No print of foot nor tire
To mar the snowy blanket,
No voice to mar
The icy silence.
I lay out food for my other friends,
No doubt hard in need of energy.
There is seed for the little ones,
Juncos, towhees and thrush,
Chopped peanut for crows and jays,
Suet for all.
This snowy morning
Creator sings
Of her creations.
Can you hear her?
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 6:36 PM UTC
In the long dark hours of night
Snow fell.
I stand four stories tall
Upon my tiny deck.
With joy I breathe the air
So cold and sharp
I feel cleansed from cell
To soul.
I sweep my sight down and back
The long line of fir and cedar,
Elder trees of a hundred years
Standing shoulder to shoulder,
My most constant friends.
Today each wears
A wrap of white tall and
Glistening in fall from the sky.
Brides of Christ?
Travelers of the Haj?
Or just old friends of the Creator?
Eventually I look downward
Upon a world made pure and simple,
No print of foot nor tire
To mar the snowy blanket,
No voice to mar
The icy silence.
I lay out food for my other friends,
No doubt hard in need of energy.
There is seed for the little ones,
Juncos, towhees and thrush,
Chopped peanut for crows and jays,
Suet for all.
This snowy morning
Creator sings
Of her creations.
Can you hear her?
Last winter Seattle had one big snowstorm. This poem is one result.
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