Waiting for snow...

Sounds of Winter

by Lucille Crumley

I can remember when I was a child

The winters were stormy, the winters were wild.

Snow fell early and soft on the ground;

The glistening of ice-coated trees all around;

Crisp crunching of snow crusts under my feet;

The beat on my window of cold driving sleet.

The thump of an axe by the shrinking woodpile...

The shoveling of snow off the walk to the stile;

Singing skate blades flashing by on the lake...

The lowing of cattle in the windbreak;

Church bells calling at twilight's last glow

From over the hills all blue-white with snow
.

The soft hiss of sled runners cutting deep traces;

Shrill shouts of children on sledding's best places;

The wind song's moan in the tall pine trees...

dripping of water as icicles freeze.

A blue jay's harsh call when he's hungry at dawn...

It seems since I'm older these sounds have all gone.

Now I sit by the fire as it crackles and snaps

And close my eyes tightly, just thinking perhaps.

I can hear all the sounds and all the sights see

Of the winters that came to the once little me.