it's snowing and i'm blinded in white

because "how pristine the lack" - such a compelling untruth! Unfortunately, the grime is still under the snow and fortunately, there are still birdsongs in winter. dryess --> dryness? I don't get the last line but who cares? Loved it.

Kaila, Short and sweet about snow. I'm not too big on the cold myself, so I relate closely to the overall tone here. And the last line I get, "...memory echoes.../...foot prints in a summer sand." wcw

You had me hooked from line 1. A really great write. I particularly like how you compare winter to summer memories. ~Nina

I love winter, but your right there is a certain melancholy to winter. Even old man winter waits for his lover spring! I love the way you slowly turn winter into summers beautiful memories that always linger! Birds don't sing in the winter, they cry for spring!!! So you are right. thanks, Eddie

ghosted in the night bright with reflected light tween orbed moon and blanketing snow. I delayed crawling into bed for to watch silently at my bedroom window. This morning's sullen sun revealed trails of deerprints ascatter almost random over the backyard. It's now apparent I was not dreaming. Thanx, Chuck

your writing never fails to move me... thank you for being here! Richard

winters in Marquette: stark and white wilderness where as a boy I hunted her, a Wolfen Woman. my first blade, carved bone handle and, me, a hollow bone, wind whistling through shedding tones of longing, a harrowing piper at the gates of dawn, and for all my danger and closeness to her, I found no print no rub of fur no blood trail. what I found was my aloneness, my atonement, my breath as a gasped cloud of unknowing, and the staggering crack of a stick in that vast pristine lack, as if I had lost everything... -or had it all rushed back, as into a vacuum, and I was alive, present between breaths, in the new freedom? -Michael