the rooftops remind me of powdered donuts
and the ground is blanketed in a white slate
which brought me back here to you
(and of course, the appeals of Billy Collins helped)
sure, you're different with your orderly dividers of space
you're inviting and emit a welcoming warmth
which the flurries outside seem to oppose
I suppose I understand the fancy people have for it,
a white Christmas, full of hot chocolate's by the frosted window
and unwrapping presents by the fire
winter wonderlands with it's balls of water not yet melted
but also not completely frozen
somewhere in between
where throwing them at each other is neither hostile
nor cruel
but playful
where a couple of rocks, a carrot and some twigs
become appendages and facial features
and judgment of fashion becomes irrelevant
as long as your warm
the only weather which brings even the angels out to play,
I understand it now
but still
I prefer my white on the page
where the letters drift down like flakes
and sometimes land together in words
that make me smile