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| The First Snowfall The fire warm and cozy I sit back relaxed. Embers popping and flying around to settle on the hearth. Soon I find myself laying on my side, eating home poped corn just a little parched. A firegazers dream to wach the embers glow. I sometimes sit for hours waching, then may fall asleep. When I awake I stir the coals and start it all again. Mezmerizing the fire draws me to memories I can not keep. Each firegaze different than the last. Gentle snow is falling flakes slowly drifting down. Heaven plucking geese the feathers swirl about. Some tumbling, others kiteing, some spiral around. Calm still and motionless even fragile leaves hold a mound. Soon the bare brown branches are all that show. This the first white blanket aready tracks are there. Coon, rabbit, fox and deer all left prints in the snow. The coolness seeps through the pane but I can not turn aside. The fire at my back as I wach the marvel build. Disappearing earth marks slowly turn to white. The rocks and grasses covered up, snow piling on the sill. Bird huddled on a branch, feathers all exploded. Fluffed up to shed the cold nestled on the limb. Black against the white, the contrast showing clearly. My picture now is painted not yet put on film. It's not an oilor charcoal, Hmm, maybe some pastel. Later becomes a water color as the sun melts it runs. Spotted patches here and there brown shows a lot. The birds pecking, scratching, basking in the sun. Seeds I scattered across the lot as the few became a mob. Bumping, shoving, screaming, tussles as each wanted more. I filled feeders as the squirrels came out to eat. Then I turned away to stand and watch them from the door. The Masked Writer <-.-> (C) T Lovett |
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