covering the landscape like a blanket of swan feathers.
Revealing the in perfect detail the earth's most subtle contour,
hillsides slopes visible through battalions of naked tree trunks.
Casting a hush over the forest,
the birds repairing to their own quiet places
to wait this weather out.
Even the skeins of geese are silent,
as if out of respect for the pall of silence cast by the snow.
And we sit by the fire, staring at blue-orange flames
saying very little
for the snow has also quieted our voices
and we are happy to be inside, warm, dry
as if covered by a blanket of swan feathers.