I.
Snow has hushed the walkway to my house.  
It has quieted all that lives outside my window.  
It twinkles back to me sunlight that plays about, 
sunlight unable to soften the iciness of this day.  
There are only two colors in the outside world—
the white sugar laid down on top of most everything I see 
and stark black of bare tree trunks 
with their naked branches snarled up into the white of sky.  
There is no sound, 
no movement 
except each breath I take.
 
II.
Snow is piled up on each side of me, taller than I am. 
I crunch my way to first grade 
with neighbor children I played with this past summer.  
Thermal underwear, dress and tights, coat, mittens, hat 
have fattened me against the cold wind.  
But not enough—
the wind seeps through the layers 
to shiver me into making quick the six blocks to school.  
We play at smoking imaginary cigarettes 
as we purse our lips into Os and blow.  
We laugh the way only six year olds can.