At nearly half past eight.
The sun had not yet awakened,
Though the morning hours were late.
I stood upon the doorstep
And wondered at the sight
Of the million, trillion snowflakes
That had fallen in the night.
I shuffled to the horse barn,
Snow almost blocked the trail.
The horses’ nickers answered
The sound of corn in the pail.
I took my time in feeding them,
And while they ate their hay
I pulled the ice from their long manes
And brushed the snow away.
They thanked me with their deep, dark eyes,
So calm and grave their stare,
Their breathing came in whuffles
In the bitter frosty air.
I trudged back home to gaze once more,
As the snowflakes around me swirled.
I caught my breath and whispered,
“Glorious! A white world.”
I wrote this on November 24, 1996, when I was sixteen years old. I remember that day like it was yesterday because of the distinct memories I put into words in this poem. I loved doing the horse chores as a kid, and I always took much longer at them than necessary, usually because I was admiring the horses and petting them.
Today reminded me of this poem, because we got another four inches of snow in the night, and we already had a lot of snowfall on the ground. It is really a white world out today.