Gray snowy morning,
Tiny white specks dot the sky.
My feet crunch the ground.

Sun has retreated;
All light comes from the whiteness:
The road, the roof, birch.

Pale green ribbon flies
Fluttering from the tree branch
Dancing with the snow.

The baby pine tree
Stands frosted at the roadside;
Its snowy milieu.

Snow road is empty;
Tire, footprints, belie life.
Where is everyone?

If you listen close
You can hear snowflakes fall
And whisper "pit pit".

We stop and chatter
Passing on the snowy road.
Then silence resumes.