The deep white fluff of easily sculpted snow
Lies on the ground with all the temptation
Its unspoiled surface can throw at me
“Play with me!� it beckons silently, persistently
Like a page waiting to be written on.
I stare at it blankly in uncertainty
Absorbing the unblemished beauty, yet
Contemplating all the possibilities—
Snowmen, snow angels, paths of children
Chasing each other round and round, and
Snow battles of the fiercest kind, waiting to be waged.
The wonder of it grips me now,
Inviting me to throw off the shackles of
Staid adulthood for a few brief minutes of
Childlike delight in the now—
What is and what I make it to be.
The seasons may change and the winds blow warmer
Melting the magic powder that turns
Grown-ups into small children,
Still, the magnificent simplicity of plain white
Is pure infusion of a glad light—
Plain in its appearance,
Complex in its effects on the soul.
Maybe this other simple unblemished white
Can re-infect me with the awe I once felt,
Inspiration untainted by cynicism,
So I may trace letters of playful intent and
Throw off the shackles of sad experience
For a few brief moments of
Childlike delight in the now—
What is and what I make it to be.

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