Arriving modestly, without a sound,
the first snow of the season fills the night
with tiny flakes of other-worldly light
that settles in pale patches on the ground.
The stone-cold air turns flannel-soft, transformed
by small wet stars that fall and thereby lift
the eye and heart—a fragile, frozen gift
that leaves our spirits fortified and warmed.
Another silent night may come to mind,
another star, another gift, but He
need not be sought as heaven falls to earth
in icy, cloud-spun pieces that will find
the pious and the pagan, equally
anointing all who see the season’s birth.
by Jean L. Kreiling, first published in The Tower Journal 5/2 (Winter 2013).
Editor’s Note: I’m waiting with bated breath for the first quiet snow of December, and I hope that it arrives as softly as this poem tiptoes into the mind.