It began to snow
earlier today, about noon.
The lawn is now a bedsheet of white,
as white as the sky overhead,
with a million frozen flakes
of white floating in between,
creating a kind of commonness,
a compatibility connecting
heaven to earth.

Across the way black oaks
stand like defiant, stark silhouettes,
their boney hands grasping upward
from the icy grave of Winter,
waiting, desperately waiting
for the first robin to nest again
in the leafy embrace of
the first morning of Spring.