First snowfall

The crisp black against the white moon.

The silent night, the dead winds,

Stilled by the anticipation.

The bare branches, hang low.

A little golden glow

Of a dim street lamp spreads out like a halo.

The foggy streets, so empty and lonely.

A moment of smoke, as I dare to breathe,

Little vapors rise, and dance away.

Gently they come down, like a lullaby,

The fluffy little cotton balls,

The trees, those sentries of the wintery nights,

Greet them with their open arms,

Delighted by the embrace.

A soft but thick white blanket underneath my feet,

And I leave a trail behind.

And from a distant, a cart comes jingling.

Oh, and the driver sings a song.

Anticipation,

It has been for the winters here and gone.

Anticipation,

It is,

Of a first snowfall.

Linking up with Trifecta : Week Fifty-five