PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I awoke this morning, a slight nip in the air,

my slippers, no where in sight, guessing the dog needed them again.

Stepping briskly, tring to traverse the sparcely scattered rugs

strewn about the cold, hardwood floor of the cabin, I made my way through

to let the dog out. Upon opening the door, thoughts of a Currier and Ives,

hand colored Lithograph flooded my mind, as if a Winter painting had dropped

from the sky, covering the landscape in Titanium white.

Only fine lines of warm grey let the trees peek through snow covered forest,

while glass, tinsel tops glistened in morning sunlight.

The only sound... a soft wind as it blew through icecicle windchimes...

            "The sweet sound of Nature's music box...

                                                                          as her ballerinas pirouette on ice"

by Barry Anderson