Snow

Snow

The snowfall comes in silence,

laying its breath across the sleeping earth,

soft as a memory that does not hurt to hold.

The streets are wiped clean of yesterday,

the scars of wheels and footsteps buried,

and I wander through this quiet shine

feeling time slip slower with each breath.

Snow rests on rooftops like tired angels,

on branches that bow but never break,

on old stone walls that stand like winter soldiers

guarding secrets no one speaks aloud.

The world feels kinder dressed in white,

as though it wants to start again,

to give us one more chance to walk unmarked,

to choose a gentler path ahead.

I watch lights glow in distant windows,

gold against the silver world,

and it warms me in a way the cold cannot steal.

In this hush, I find myself,

not in noise or rush or flame,

but in the steady fall of something pure,

something patient, falling from a sky

that asks for nothing in return.