All night, the wind whistled and blew. The small house shook occasionally but stood firm, a strong rock amidst the swirling, rushing snow. When the sun’s first rays of light began poking through the clouds and darting across the land, the wind’s howling quieted to a whisper.

The girl peeked through the window and smiled. Swiftly, she pulled on her long winter socks and brown, fuzzy boots; tied a soft, red scarf around her neck; and slipped her fingers into a thick, snug pair of green gloves. Then she bounded outside, eager to explore the winter wonderland.

I can feel the ground whispering as I continue in the shoes which were never imagined for this walk. My dear, sweet mother, would choke on her breath if she saw me out here, wearing strapped, high heeled dress shoes in the forest covered in snow. I love it.

I might see him now, or is that another tree? He never did promise that he would come. But I came anyway. I am always seeking. I must always know. A tree again. No? Yes. Nothing moves in this forest but me. Everything hides but the woman in a black ball gown who doesn't know where she's going. He will not come. He isn't here.

SEEMS familiar, doesn’t it? Well, that’s because it’s the title of a fairy tale by Hans Christian Anderson called The Snow Queen, which recently was adapted into a Disney animated film called Frozen.
Now this is not a fairy tale about a prince who can freeze things and make it snow in July. This is about me and my experience sledding!

world of white:
white sky
white ground
white whirling through the air
white noise

trees, houses, cars
sprout from the crystal earth
muddy tracks
mar the pristine beauty
poofy coats tuck in their chins
and hurry on

sun sets
moon rises
sparkling beauty returns
deep blue sky
studded with stars
invisible obstructions
coated with glitter
artificial lights
rising heavenward
in golden spirals

beautiful world

I had a dream that we were walking
down riverbanks of ice.
My feet were slipping.
The snow had drifted high.

Then I woke and I'd been sleeping
underneath the deep snow
deep beneath the white snow
buried in the sweet snow
up to my chin.

Then I woke and it was just the blankets,
warm and home, in bed.

I listened to the songs left over from the summer,
from when I was at the sea:
all those songs I had in my head
back then.

And I can't decide, sometimes
if I would rather be here, or there--

How can I tell them about the cold?
Here, such a penchant for rain
we have,
and such an unhealthy love of snow
we have,
We have hopes
made of steel and icicles.

And it’s strange—

Hey, here’s something cold and gray:
night falling, snow falling, eyes falling
asleep,
eyelids like a sagging roof,
and me like a crooked bend
in the highway.

And it’s strange—
But don’t you think it’s strange?

Oh, don’t wake me
from the cold and the snow and the rain.

10/4/08 version

There is a chill
In the air
Tonight
Oh so soft and subtle
But oh so
Cold

It creeps
Up your sleeves
Winds around your chest
And numbs your heart.
It freezes the sky,
Frosts
The already-chilly stars,
And blows your hair
Gently
Around your almost-frozen face.

(I haven't posted a poem for quite some time. This is a poem I wrote a couple of months back. It's short and sweet, and I didn't really put much effort into writing it. But still, I do hope you enjoy it!)

Padded feet crushed the snow
The glaciers ahead matched her eyes
Ice-blue, with a killer glow
She waited

Her magnificent fur dusted white
Her hunger to hunt grows
Even in the blinding light
She waited

The rain plummets from the sky, to caress my face. I spread my arms and smile upward, it's my perfect day, just for me. Most people hate these days, not me. I'm just off work, only a hour left to board, but I will make every second count. The ride up is wet and glorious, raindrops drench my hair, but my coat keeps me warm, as does the 40 degree weather.  At last, at the top, the rain thickens, but I abandon my goggles. I strap in, and look down at my love, the mountian. A deep, happy breath, and I'm off. The snow is perfect,  the rain not affecting it at all.

 But I can't see into him and he turns away to face the open road.

            “Never ye mind. Ye'll tell in yer own time I'm sure. Why do ye think there ain't been a soul here to snatch us all to the queen's delightful company?” It is clear that this conversation is closed for now.

            “Probably because every time any soldiers get near us, they are sent running in terror from Annie and Danielle.” I and Isaias chuckle a bit and then I fall silently into thought.