From Where I Sit

watching snow gently falling 
               on the thick whiteness of what came before

snapping and crackling of kindling in the wood stove 
                             keys on a keyboard
movement of the soft sleeve of my grey woolen sweater as I type 

metallic        staccato     sounds              as the stove begins to heat up 
wood creaks as I move in the old chair with the pale blue velvet seat 
                        knowing a peculiar white cherub 
                                 silently smiling 
                                     at my back

fire gets hotter
           crackling subsides 
now the steady quiet roar of the chimney 

the falling snow looks like silence in motion