Paper Snow

Fields of white

Like blank pages, waiting for some writing

And your footsteps are the words

Leaving imprints in the snow, telling where you go

And if you trip and stumble

Over a branch or a jagged stone

It will be written in the snow

If perhaps you spot some tracks

You’ll know you’re not alone

You stand atop the hill, looking at your white canvas

Wondering what to paint today, after the fresh snowfall

For when winter turns to spring, as it does each year

And the snow begins to melt so slowly

Eventually your works of art

Will become a white winter memory