It has been snowing for a week
It snowed all last night
It is snowing yet.
My world, confined to what I can see,
is a shapeless mass of amorphous heaps.
A rumpled blanket hides the ground.
Everything is pale and colorless.
The paper birch, branches laced with snow,
the black limbs of the oaks,
each bearing a mantle of white,
I perceive only black and white.
But that is not true.
What I see are subtle, mysterious,
unidentifiable variations of blue.
The sky itself, vaguely luminescent,
glowing cesious in the latency of morning,
without glimmer or shade
to hint at east or west, north or south,
casting shadows which only suggest down from up.
The snowflakes, cold and blue,
continue to spiral to the ground.