freezing into the wild

11

Snow laid on the ground like baker's flour,
the thinnest dust of white to powder all.
Feels like weeks ago the ground had flowers
and days since red-gold leaves declared it Fall.
Pictures can not capture this damask shawl
of puffy flake linked loose by frozen thread.
Words are only as good as I recall,
suffice to say the scene was quite sacred.
It happened out the window by my bed
propped up by my elbow I bore witness
to faded skirts of trees that could not shed
the tall cones of ice that struck them listless.
My bones, and branches, froze with winter's kiss.
The windows open to the empty air.
As I freeze into the wild I will miss
the feeling I get knowing I'm somewhere.