You might think snow would flatten out the world –
Smother in white the pale remains of fall
And make a grayness – blank and unrelieved –
Which only spring can bring again to bloom.
It’s quite the opposite. That whiteness frames
The greens, the distant purples, and the reds,
And by the magic of its contrast lights
Their failing fires, and they blaze again.
A second autumn, this first fall of snow –
A festive memory of warmer times.
There may come days when white is all the world,
And color is a near-forgotten dream,
But for today, the eye drinks full delight
From barren fields grown rich, and boldly bright.