Telling is the way it falls
down, drifting, swirling
its own landscape
with hills and valleys

It snuggles onto windowsills
while we cozy on the sofa
is that forlorn I see?
wanting to come inside

It disguises parked cars
hides garden gnomes forgotten
left to shiver in the cold
muting holiday lights everywhere

morning unveils snow’s artistry
bare trees our private painting
sapphire sky its backdrop
wishing I had my camera –

to remember this beauty in sultry July