This morning when I snapped the shades,
the sun was missing in the sky.
A thick white fog enveloped trees,
cloaked passing cars in street nearby.

More than a foot of fallen snow
now drapes landscape, refines the scene.
Such glamor in a gleaming shroud
wide-spread on slopes, untrod, pristine.

The drifting snow becomes small dunes
which swiftly morph in shape and size.
Sometimes wind-swept they leap along
then slither to a quick demise.

This world is silent, strangely still,
a scene out of a fantasy.
Inviting yet disquieting,
a wistful dream or reverie.