Snow Angel: Ramblings

Snow Angel: A Rambling

Dark,cold.
The wind tugs at a wayward curl.
A shiver traces down her spine.
A voice whispers.
Believe.

The soft whoosh of wool .
A hood rises.
A snow frosted aureole disappears.
Liquid dark eyes shine out of cowl's depths.
They speak.
Of fire.
Of secrets, long forgotten.

Snow crunches.
Crystalline, perfect.
A single line of footprints.
Amethyst, midnight, cobalt, gold.
A lone jay chitters.

Hoar frost forms.
Flowers of icy mist.
Each small light jewel bright.
Shadows are gentle company.
Silence golden.

Trees stand.
Tall and still.
Patiently waiting.
They sleep, she dreams.
She knows.

Eyes shine.
Bright and wise.
The air murmurs.
The trees reply.
The brook laughs.
A voice muted by a blanket of white.

All was still, but twilight comes.
Amethyst, cobalt, copper, green.
Virga gathers.
Something hovers close.
Waiting, wishing.
She dreams.

A snowflake trembles.
Tumbling from the heavens.
Down.
Spiraling, whirling.
Waltzing.
Snow crunches.
Footprints circle.
The silence shatters.

A single, shimmering laugh.
Pure and joyous.
A silver bell.
She knows the steps.
Knows the song.
She dances.

Flowing, flexing.
Cavorting, swirling.
Leaping and laughing.
The voice whispers.
Believe.
She does.

She dreams.
She dances.
Whipping and whirling.
The snow drifts down.
It tells a tale of magic forgotten.

A tale of innocence.
Of love and hate.
Of joy and pain.
A story of impossible dreams.
She listens, she knows.

The icy perfection of the wood glimmers.
She shivers.
Dark eyes shining within the cowl.
Her steps slow.
The gyrations gone.
A single line of footprints.
Meandering this way and that.

Snow squeaks as she turns.
Her feet retrace the path.
The twilight fades.
Night comes.
Stars awake.
She believes.

She tugs at her hood.
Dislodging the sheer, frozen veil.
Her heart pounds.
Her blood rushes.
Warm, wild.
Her smile is secret.
The dreams are hers.
To keep or to share.

The homelights flicker in her eyes.
She's back, the twilight woods her escape.

The voice is muffled as it disappears into the virgin snow.
The iPod lands at her feet.

"Damn..."


And the return...of the Snow Angel.

Tchaikovsky Snow

Seven days of snow, no respite.
Of sun or moon or stars, there is no sight.
December fades, Christmas done.
Winter lingers, dark and deep.

The wind finally softens, fades away.
Daylight wanes, leaching gray.
Homelights twinkle across the hills.
Snow floats down,
A graceful disarray of cold and chill.

Each flake fractal, perfect, velvet soft.
Crystalline clear and icy calm.
Indigo twilight illuminated by
An amorphous, misty moon.

A curtain pulled back, a face peeking.
Boots tied tight, jacket on.
Hat askew, mittens added.
Tinkle of a silver bangle.
Music on and out the door.

One, two, three
One, two, three
Dip and sway,
French horn and strings.
Botched a step.
Trip and bounce.
Whirl once more.
Up the path, away from the door.

Woodwinds warbling, strings weaving.
Snow drifts down, a gentle veil.
Gilded with golden light,
Showing the trail.
Boots go bounding,

One, two, three
One, two, three
Once again.
Twist and swirl.
Hands widespread.
Cobalt, indigo, violet,
Old gold, muted silver.
Shimmering white, a tide of shadows.

It is a world of quiet, still and flawless.
A Waltz of Flowers, a song of spring.
But in winter's bitter heart, the snow spirals down.
The pristine flakes, attendants of the Faeries' Ball.

Eyes alight, dreams soaring.
Tchaikovsky in her ears is roaring.
Woodwind, brass, and soaring strings.
The timeless melody leads the way.
Two steps forward.
Dip and sway.

Whirling, twirling, twisting 'round.
Down the path.
Across the ground.
Trees stripped bare.
Grass long gone.

The Will-o-wisp watches from the skeletal limbs.
Pixies cavort among the reed stems.
Jack Frost whips and whispers.
Dashing hither and yon.
Ice faeries, prismatic wings and pointed toes,
Steal down and kiss a nose.

The air it nips.
Her breath it freezes.
A cloud of vapor, muffled sneezes.
Only she sees the celebration in the bitter night.
The faeries smile as she laughs and dances.
Alone in a world of waltzing fey and errant breezes
Her imagination soaring, heart aglow.
'Tis a rare, wondrous thing this Tchaikovsky Snow.