The sky was not blue that day.

The glowing orbs of white light was seen throughout, like an angel's presence.  

The road to the downtown was quiet. 

The red plow truck had just left white trail marks on the highway.   

 While winds swirled around me, the snow scrunched beneath my boots,

that was just enough to remind me of my

sprained ankle in snow last year.

Outside my window, shiny column of Icicles hung down from the eaves,

as the snowflakes fell like confetti drifting to the ground,

enough to bury tender shoots of Spring all over. 

As I leaned my elbows on the window sill cupping my chin in my palm,

the warm air hovered and spread a thin steam on the pane.   

That late March winter I stayed late into the night, and from the window,

 I watched snowflakes falling quietly all over the plains.