When the woods are fields of snow
With trunks and branches etched in ice
And you remember what you always knew
That winter has never really left you
An old friend, predictable and familiar.
Making snowballs, sliding on a frozen pond,
Riding on a sleigh through never-ending snowdrifts.
Did you do this one -- two -- or twenty years ago?
Or perhaps it was your great-grandfather
Or a long-dead stranger whom you never knew.
No matter -- you have breathed it in.
The sleighride and snowdrift are as much a part of you
As the last person to smile at you.
And, if winter seems forever,
Remember that springtime is deep inside you
Waiting its moment to be reborn.
Snow on Campus Parkway by Fred Vaughan © 1959/60