Snow Day, Snow Way

Some people think I’m crazy, although I don’t think it’s so.

There are certain times for me that I like to shovel snow.

Late at night ‘neath street light’s gleam; cold’s arrived and the air’s chill.

Snowflakes drift in crystal stream through the darkness calm and still.

Taking my shovel in hand, I step out into the night

to a winter wonderland where snow drifts down through the light.

The silence becomes profound. I hear each flake when they kiss

as they tumble to the ground in a steady rush and hiss.

Solitude for me to keep behind a shifting white veil,

I dig through snowdrifts deep built by icy crystals frail.

I toil alone in quiet in a world of white and black.

Sometime you ought to try it and you may keep coming back.

I don’t say it’s a pleasure. So don’t think of me as odd;

it’s a time one can treasure at peace with nature and God.