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Wintry Thanksgiving

Most artists use a white canvas,

then add color.  

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You did just the opposite.

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Upon every leafless tree and forested hill,

you sent from heaven above

a flurry of white

to paint your landscape.

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Clearly each flake was carefully directed.

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Thousands upon thousands,

blasted by cold wind,

speckle trunks of oak and maple,

defining sharply each tree in the forest.

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Yet most gently floated down,

dabbed upon every limb, bough, and twig,

covering them with clean brightness. 

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Across the valley,

the morning sun strikes hilltops,

every glistening branch sparkling

with little diamonds of frozen cold.

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As I sit on window seat,

beholding your wintry glory,

with sounds of a feast

being prepared in the kitchen behind me,

I give silent thanks

to an artist

who uses white so beautifully

to cover not only trees.

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