Snowy Villages

Snow
Gently falling on the rooftops
Of my little village,
Not a footprint
Not a pawprint
To be seen
From my window.
The whoosh of the wind
Through the trees,
The hoot of a lonely owl,
The creak of the window shutters
Give the scene a voice.
Wood in the fireplace
Pops and sputters,
Flames stretch up the chimney
Grandmother’s afghan around my shoulders
Keeps me warm
On this sacred, snowy evening.