Northern lights move over the great lake as the last breath of summer is forgotten. Purple clouds rise from her waters, swirling into snow which smothers a more civilized shore.

Still limber, she dances with the arctic wind. He pushes her rhythms into thunderous waves which shatter against the reef. Spray touches stone and surrenders to what it must become in this frozen world. Mother lake slowly undulates as flocks of geese disappear with the dying sun.

Winter stars gyre 'round sleeping bear. Orion rises with a waning moon to witness a snowflake floating down to kiss the somber lake. Now remembering her lost children, she allows herself to congeal and holds them within her crystalline womb.

Wolf and moose watch each other across the blue-white passage, island to northern shore. Wolf tests the ice with one foot, then another. Confident and hungry, his footsteps come quicker, yellow eyes focused on the steaming breath of prey.

Moose stoops to a hollow in the drifting snow and tastes the sweet silver-birch bark. Then, seeing his long shadow approach, she backs away from the shore, into a dark-whispering woods.

It is too cold to snow.

Whose car this is, I used to know
It's stuck here in my driveway, though
I cannot see it anymore
It's buried under mounds of snow.

I've been outside since half past four
To dig a path from my front door
From head to toe I've paid the price
My body's frozen to the core.

I slipped and fell not once but twice
Landing butt-first upon the ice
I think I pulled a muscle too
My back feels like it's in a vise.

My fingers may be turning blue
But I have shoveling to do
And miles to go before I'm through
And miles to go before I'm through.

The breath of the early morning snaked gently through the wood, toying with the fading mist among the glossy, ice-encrusted branches. The sun rose happily from its rejuvenating slumber behind the distant mountains and generously poured out a pleasant invigorating warmth across the frozen landscape. The snow that so perfectly smoothed over the earth's imperfections responded joyfully and seemingly came alive, dancing and frisking in the shimmering light. Even the long shadows that were laid so gracefully on top of the blanket of snow gleamed with icy blue hues of a thousand shades. The crisp blue sky was limitless, and, except for the last few vaporous tails of the night's storm that were slithering their way between the hilltops to the north, harbored not a single cloud to compromise its purity. Occasionally droplets of water would break free from their icy bonds and plunge into the soft white powder coating the forest floor. A muffled tapping could be heard when they landed on less forgiving surfaces. As if afraid of being heard, the sound darted quickly through the trees before quickly burring itself in the snow.

Today was going to be a good day in the secluded wintry wood.

He closed his eyes, unsure of the images they revealed. Blind. Blackness. Falling. His thoughts were scattered; confusing. Sleep.

***

Sleep is good.

***

Don't fall asleep. His eyes shot open and his mind flailed amongst a thousand thoughts, desperately trying to grasp just one that could somehow explain this surreal reality. Heaven.

No.

Snow. Beautiful Snow. Cold Snow.

Cold.

Very cold.

Slowly, as if being burned away like a morning mist, the fog in his mind started to fade and he gradually became aware of a deep throbbing pain in his legs, chest, arm and face. Carefully, he turned his head. Fear welled up inside of him, momentarily drowning out the ever increasing pain. His new perspective showed him the shattered windscreen glass and crumpled nose cowling of his Cessna 172 and everything immediately made sense. The pain sharpened, he became acutely aware of the bitter cold, and panic instantly pillaged every last fiber of his being.

Outside, the soft white powder, calm and emotionless, muffled then silenced the agonizing cries that came from the edge of the clearing. It would not have to wait long before the peaceful serenity returned; the frigid air would make sure of it.

“Just cold” he thought as he sat on the odd wooden chair left to rot in the weather; “Just cold.”
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked cooingly, draping her arms around his neck. Rebecca, his latest girlfriend, had opened the sliding door so quietly, her arrival surprised him. “I love how the snow seems to cling to the trees like cute winter-magnets on the refrigerator.”
Pretty as she was, Jack was way over the cheerleader crap. He had ducked out for a moment of peace, and yet, there she appeared again, to do little else but irk him with dribble. “My thoughts, exactly,” he replied.
“Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “It’s a perfect picture. Gentle snow falling on a thin field of white and dark tree-limbs dressed all pretty and nice, like little young girls playing with lace. Even the old stump seems to smile with his new little hat of bright woolen wonder sprinkled from heaven.”
“Funny thing,” said Jack. “I was thinking how dead the dry trigs look and what a pain in the ass it’s going to be to shovel the driveway. But, you know what? That stump might make a good target; let me get my gun.”

I walked through the doorway of my isolated home as the meteorologist on the TV behind me made several Winter and snow-themed puns regarding the endless abyss of white that littered the east coast. Already dressed for the season, I ran out into the yard as my feet sunk deeper and deeper into the snow. I took a moment to look around and gaze upon the uplifting visage. The snow was coming down hard, but light enough for me to see the woods that surrounded my house. Although the trees no longer had their leaves, their understudy stepped in to provide a lovely white pattern atop and within the canopy of the forest.

I let out a sigh of enjoyment and fell on my back into the snow. I started to make a snow angel while the snowflakes became an annoyance as they smacked my face. A minor price to pay, I thought, as I got up to look at my creation. I was proud of myself! The snow angel was perfect. Satisfied, I walked back inside, turning around once more to see the wintry beauty now tarnished by my footprints. No matter, though. It'll be covered again soon.

The Frost Queen waved her delicate hand
To summon the season with one command.
A winter's chill brought forth and fanned
Scattering snowflakes to devour the land.

A wicked wind did whistle and waft
It kissed the snow, all white and soft.
O'er ancient castles standing high aloft
And every farmstead, church and croft.

The Cathedral spires like icicles rolled
As the air outside blew chilly and cold.
Inside, prayers and hymns of hope unfold
At the graves of knights, brave and bold.

Gargoyles high, wrapped in blanket-white
Concealing their fearsome face of fright.
Belfry bats swoop through the night
Break flickering flames of candlelight.

Frosted fields deep-frozen in time
Broken only by the church bell chime.
Leafless trees stand tall in silent mime
Where sprigs of holly and ivy climb.

The crispy coat of sparkling snow
Glistened in the moon's luminous glow.
Where seed or blossom dare not show.
And bubbling brooks no longer flow

The Frost Queen's hold is fierce and strong
Cruel and sharp with biting tongue.
But her icy spell won't last for long
As birds awake in springtime song.

A thaw comes forth like green-tinted lace
Melted by the sun's warm embrace.
The Frost Queen leaves and awaits with grace
Another year to unveil her face.

Turn my back to the city and walk on, hands deep in pockets-gloves-pockets. This winter does not belong to us; it challenges and scrapes up in our eyes, a defiant chill. It shook out the dusky-damp of Dublin. No, this cold doesn’t belong; it’s been rejected from some other poor soul, tiring of the bone-ache.
The plastic of the shopping bag cuts rivets in my hand, the freeze has turned the handle to glass. I can almost see the red blister, like a parody of sunburn. I walked all this way for milk? As though I need more white! (While the snow swallows my feet in heaving gasps, I imagine I can see the wet red of the inside of its mouth; a tender show of colour, but it’s all in my head.) Stephens Green Park is all closed gates. I skirt the border, wondering about frozen feathers on the backs of ducks. I’d ”˜ve thrown them some bread if it was open. I can see the bare-bulb light of the front room, a beacon, my light house. It’s usually a white bright but this everywhere-snow makes all else yellow. He’d better ’ve put on the kettle, I bought biscuits.

The world outside the cabin was getting worse. I stared out the small square window pane- the cold outside had made it misty and but the fury of the snowstorm was clear. A blizzard raged across the forest, whipping at the spindly pine trees and howling like some foul beast of the cold. White; god so white. Would it ever end? As soon as the question was asked it was answered. The blizzard passed. I rushed to the door and pushed it open with effort- the snow was yet to block me in. I gazed across the icy landscape. The once verdant land was now a monochrome wilderness. Trees caked in snow. Ground heavily coated with white ice. Snowflakes drizzled from the dark sky above. The thick blanket of winter had truly descended upon the land. I trudged through the thick snow heading to Dead Man’s ridge for a better vantage point. Cold, so Cold. Even under all these clothes and after all these years it still chills me to the bone… I sat down on the ridge and scanned the endless expanse of snow- stretching as far as the eye could see. It would be a long hard winter…

Staring out from her third floor apartment, the rooftops of the city look like scoops of vanilla ice cream in a marshmallow wonderland. The giant oak tree next door bows down from the weight of the fresh, wet snow. The storm’s fury, dark as it is, almost seems light and airy as the wind makes ice crystals dance to Jack Frost’s winter song. Passersby bow down to its majesty, and in the distance children squeal when snowballs are thrown towards unwary targets.

My love walks through the door, having made the climb up the stairs still adorned in heavy coat, scarf, mittens and cap, snow clinging to her hair, cheeks red from the walk through the snow, and her blue eyes scoffing at the gray skies of winter.

I take her in my arms and feel the coldness of the season about her, quickly fading into the warmth of her body and the heat of our love.

My snow bunny has come home to me.