Flurries Falling

Carried on the cold wind of
late fall the sound of a woodpecker
thrums through the urban forest.
So cold it is that even the shredded
bark of long-dead trees seem to
shrivel. Yet those are magical
beams of sunlight slanting off
the gleaming white of denuded
birches and the understory of
the treed hilly slopes is green
with yew carpeting the forest
floor. Sun glances off desiccated
piles of fall foliage penetrating
now where it was denied through
the leafy canopy of summer
searching for colour among the
drab shrivelled leaves. Then, even
as the sun sails buoyant in its blue
ocean, snow begins its lazy
descent, flecking the atmosphere
with white puffs of winter.