The telephone wires
unroll across the blue skies
piercing through the clouds

The sun is dancing
Up and down behind the yews
Its light flirts with us

The road stretches out
Teasing us; we still have hours
Before we get home

Until then we must
watch the reflections of the
tall snow-capped mountains

Pass by the white lakes
and the icicles on the trees
which seem like a hard shell

Cascading snowfall
Slowly and softly at first
a visual lullaby