Snow in the Stillness

Soft and made of the pure joy of white flakes, falling slowly as the giggles of lilliputian angels dancing tip toe, a waltz across the quiet of a winter night. It is the waning hours of the night, slipping away when the perfection of this gift can be absorbed fully into the soul. By morning the clean crisp linen washed alabaster of the World is spoiled once again, by the foulness churned up from underneath. The irony is that we believe we are clearing away the path, when really we are disrupting the playground of purity found only in those quickly stolen moments, when all is soft, and calm, and well with the Holy Peace found in that stillness given as a fleeting gift, a remembrance of the time of innocence, of a gasp caught in the awe of that first glance onto the newness and endless possibilities that are the jubilant felicity in a child’s imagination. We lose it so swiftly, that if you blink it is gone. Hold onto it, capture it in your heart, take it in with your eyes. Orbs of resplendence beam down upon the polished luminous pillow, presenting the curtain of powder before me is soft sighs. Burning bright my cheeks alight, I shelter away the all to brief memories of my moments of peace, waiting for it to pay a call once more.