Sparkatale

Silence.

Deafening in its enormity.

A scream would be swallowed

Almost before passing the lips.

It falls like this

Next to never.

Consuming roads,

Squashing flowers like cartoon anvils,

Chilling and killing small forms of life.

Everything becomes sheathed in a fat layer of white.

It curls your fingers inwards-

Away from the cold.

It quiets all enclosed.

Each foot fall is more of the feeling

Than the actual crunch.

A child dips backward without fear of injury-

A trust fall with Mother Nature,

And she doesn’t disappoint.

That crunch accompanies the tiny form,

Rearranging in shapes at the will of their flexible limbs.

It’s a snow day,

And what could possibly ever

Bring a smile to a child’s face

If not just that?