by Esther Mills

Created on: November 03, 2010

White silence underfoot and all around

encloses me in this, my private world -

my soft-crunched steps are now the only sound.

I breathe out steam and watch it drift and curl.

You never understood my love of snow -

you said when I grew up, I'd hate it then

(just another backwards gift you bestowed).

Now every time I drive through it, I grin.

Had you been smarter, you might have made me

into the graven image you desired.

I coaxed each frown from you with private glee

and grew to hate anything you admired.

Thank you.  Odd, isn't it? You'll never know

how your influence made me love the snow.

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