The squeaks and creaks of freshly fallen snow

Are reassurance that winter is really here.

The heavy glass door has replaced the flimsy screen

And the pumpkins in front are capped with white hats.

Outdoor life comes to a slow

While indoors, a treadmill of bustle still runs.

Mornings are getting colder.

Nights are getting darker.

But no matter what, the moon comes out to glow.

Quietly the world undergoes the seasons.

Families watch through fogged up windows,

And leave shapes of warm breath on the frosted glass.

Below the shedding birch tree, the creek is aflow

Cardinals with peacoats of color sit perched on branches

Standing out against the solid panels of white,

gently singing a morning song.

The snowfall happened overnight

Leaving a powdering of magic and whispers.