Snowfall

White brigades of snow fill the air,
like dust in a beam of light, all-encompassing.
Gusts of wind shatter the snowfall like
a shiver threading its way through the spine.

 

Footprints scar the albaster ground
like shards along a canvas. A single patch
of crisp perfection remains. To ruin
it would be a sickly-sweet pleasure.

 

Ready. Aim. Fire. Balls of white zoom
through the air, ambling towards
friendly targets. Cold is forgotten
and frivolity warms every fibre.

 

Numb fingers, cold skin, warm fires.
Street lights twinkle like fire flies.
The scent of tepid cocoa floats softly
through the still, merry air.