A few flakes of snow. Valley sounds eddy on the wind. The sun makes an appearance among the ridgetop trees.
snowflakes
Slow snowfall in a silence punctuated only by birds. I’m tired enough that watching it feels almost like sleep.
Treetops rock and sway in the wind—a restive mountainside. A few snowflakes fly this way and that.
Gauzy curtains of snow falling from the treetops—six inches’ worth—even as more snowflakes start coming down. The wind’s work is never done.
Looking through a series of thin screens: swirling snowflakes, greening lilac, yellow forsythia, bare trees, holey clouds.
Snowflakes dance wildly but all the daffodils can do is nod and sway. O sweet Canada, sings the sparrow.
Winter’s back, with snow on the ground and more coming down. Juncos twitter happily. An ambulance goes wailing through the gap.
Heavy clouds except where the sun glimmers through. Snowflakes. The robin’s bright warble.
A flash mob of snowflakes rushing this way and that. Over the sound of water, the wind: all hiss, no hush.
Scattered snowflakes like free-range musical notation for scattered chirps—chickadee, nuthatch. A hint of sunrise fading from the clouds.
The first flakes, fine as flour, from a dull gray sky: far edge of the predicted blizzard. A silent crow flies over. A woodpecker knocks.
Bright sun with a few clouds. Snowflakes wander this way and that like terranauts among the trees.
Patches of blue sky; occasional snowflakes. What appears to be a butterfly fluttering through the treetops must be a dead leaf.
Full moon gone in, I feel snowflakes on my face, their almost clinical touch. The sound of a train. The springhouse roof turning white.