Snow

The winds are painting things white
And this is the most beautiful
Of all transitions
To the world.
Just touch the softness in the air:
Words slide off the tongue,
For this snow is never a hard skin
But a softness that will feed the ground
It covers and the dreams that glide out through
The soft clouds hidden in minutes of snow
Are the stories never told before.

Nothing is hard in this bright world,
This is what I have learned from looking
At snow,
And that a tree,
Raindrops, chipped rocks —
All step along, all
Glisten with light, as
Unweighted time now grows and flows.

The untold stories weave in the soft
Light such that silence now arises to speak.

Blessed be the winter storms!

• Louis MacNeice