Wintry Thanksgiving

Most artists use a white canvas,

_ then add color.  _

You did just the opposite.

_Upon every leafless tree and forested hill, _

_you sent from heaven above _

_a flurry of white _

to paint your landscape.

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Clearly each flake was carefully directed.

Thousands upon thousands,

_ blasted by cold wind, _

speckle trunks of oak and maple,

defining sharply each tree in the forest.

_Yet most gently floated down, _

dabbed upon every limb, bough, and twig,

_covering them with clean brightness. _

Across the valley,

_ the morning sun strikes hilltops,_

_every glistening branch sparkling _

with little diamonds of frozen cold.

As I sit on window seat,

beholding your wintry glory,

_with sounds of a feast _

being prepared in the kitchen behind me,

I give silent thanks

to an artist

who uses white so beautifully

to cover not only trees.