Winter's Entrance

    Winter’s hand reached out last night.
    Silently she walked across the skies,
    strewing snow flakes from
    her basket over barren fields,
    as though she were a flower girl.
    I awoke to find her lacy layers of white doilies
    draped over branch and bush;
    December has arrived.
    Ancient oaks extend their arms like
    ring bearers holding powdery pillows.
    Near the lowlands, twisted hedgerows
    thick with barberries, offer
    refuge and fine feasting to the
    flitting sparrows around the church.
    Morning’s reverent hush is broken
    by the mistle thrush’s fluty song;
    long descending clouds filter
    down the sky and linger over
    the church’s steeple.
    My eyes are open,
    admiring the pure white train of
    this season’s bridal dress
    as she sweeps across the fields
    in all her brilliant majesty.