The blanket covered everything
with a stillness of pure white
It covered branches like yin to yang
It fell into the cracks of the stonewall
clinging to the ledges like salt to pepper
The road was plowed by big machines
that spread the blanket into white like mounds
lining the road with new dimensions
The stillness sank deep into the meadow
draping the milkweed like fine cotton curtains
The sky grey white with little light reflecting
held the first winter snow like a mother holding
a new born wrapped in a world of stark purity
The only blemish on the white winter world was the blue jay
flying like it always does toward dawn
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