it falls so easily, each flake
so many and each so individual
everything it covers becomes beautiful
if you live with winter you cannot wait
to share it with someone who has never seen snow
it is impossible to describe
the fear, the beauty, the truth
laid as bare as you can believe
it is not white — it is blank
purity is cold — but snow is warm
you can live in a house of snow
the dull shine of street lamp, car light
dim filtered sunlight, is caught, webbed
rainbow in each flake, you can hold out
your hand and catch them, frozen rainbows —
stick out your tongue and taste them
roll them up into snow men that will burn
with the light of a million suns through the night
winter winds may blow but they cannot affect us
life is snow and repetition only perfects us
<so begins my eleventh book Winter>
Peterborough Poets 