The sunlight pours through the gray-blue sky,

Shining on mountains, dusty and dry.

It’s winter all right, the air’s cold and crisp.

The sky is plain except for a cloudy wisp.

As we look out the window, we find ourselves craving

That special kind of joy that comes when it’s snowing.

But this year, all hope of snow is lost,

No snowmen to make, no snowflakes to watch.

And then it happens, the sky turns a canvas of white,

A single snowflake falls, a beautiful sight!

Suddenly, before we can blink,

Hundreds drift down, a kind of magic.

We stand there, spellbound, as snowflakes swirl around.

Landing softly, gently, without a sound.

And then, just as quickly as they came,

They slow down, then stop, leaving the world brown and bare again.

But the snow’s magical allure still holds us close,

And we wonder if it was all a dream, of a soft, snowlike ghost.

- V, 13

02.17.2026