Transformed, Again

A dark gloom has settled over the landscape.
Not the deeply cushioned dark of night, however.
This represents the shuttering of day's light, by
an approaching storm. This is also not an
oppressive gloom approaching. Merely the
winter sky dressing itself from coquettish
blue to an elegant charcoal with silver trim
which simply has eclipsed the ephemeral
golden splendour of the late-morning sun.

White begins to overtake the slate grey and
the great bowl of the sky has once again been
altered, changing costume, as glittering flakes
begin their lazy, spiralling ascent, stippling the
atmosphere with gleaming clusters of frozen
stars. the trees in the forest preen in proud
display, their limbs and branches fuzzed with
white appeal, like debutantes in pristine white
furbelowed frills; apparel suitable for the ball.

The diaphanous veil of fetching white glitters
and gleams in tantalizing points of light as
the sun limns the edges of scalloped clouds.
Chickadees greet a new season's advance,
excitedly chattering, bouncing within the
confines of hemlock, spruce and cedar bowers.
The air is redolent of the sharp familiar fragrance
of falling snow; the wind, briskly respectful,
nudging it into corners and shy crevices.

The swiftly-running creek, swollen with
overnight freezing rain, resembles a long,
winding black mirror, hurrying beyond the
byways of the woodland heights in its journey
beyond, to longer, welcoming bodies, not yet
prepared for transformation to a river of silver
ice under which aquatic creatures pursue
their imperturbable cycle of life's journey.