Waiting in the Snow

Flurries of cotton wool
drift towards the ground,
muffling the silence,
drowning any sound.

The fields are blanketed;
wrapped in crystal light.
Held in a secret silent place
‘neath swirling drifts of white

Brave dark trees protruding,
leafless and shivering, cold.
Even the saplings gnarled and ancient:
the winter makes everything old.

Shadows lengthen as dusk draws in,
the chill fighting the sun.
The sun starts to tire, fading,
and the battle is almost won.

Then the sun gives up in a blaze of light,
abandoning the world to the cold.
Everything is touched by the dying rays,
turning purple, red and gold.

Breath floating in clouds to the night sky,
caught in the gaze of the moon.
As the frost dusts the snow with a sparkling crust,
I pray that you’re coming home soon.