Swollen, the dark sky opens at last;
From the cloud pours swirling white.
Flakes come drifting down like fairy feathers
From the afternoon sky.
Softly at first, then heavier and heavier,
‘Til its falling like wet white rain,
On heads, houses, buses and boulevards,
Icing the roads like sugar frosting.
Will it finish as a blanket?
Only morning will tell.
more by Lëaf Ednïwinga
photograph by Aaron Wilson