Flake, followed flake, followed flake of old lace
falling, splashing, flashing, swirling, gathering in chilly molehills
until undulating into ubiquitous whiteout.
Crystalline white, sparkling and inviting like a cosmic latte
Rosy cheeked children donning hats and scarves and mittens and jackets and wellies…
dragging toboggans behind them up the newly formed hills
that used to be roads and pathways and gardens
while the workers call in with excuses
nursing their hot chocolates and skinned knees.