The snow might seem indifferent,
the weather threatening more,
the sun making sounds
like he’s ‘bout to go down,
still she tends to her chore.

The long trudge home forgotten,
the crusted sled set aside,
for a moment’s tease
with an eternal peace,
spiked with a certain pride.

With a swoosh and sudden tingle,
a few flakes down her neck,
eyes open wide,
peering right through the sky
from here to Kingdom Heck.

Then, fluffening out around her,
two blessed angel wings
and the bottom of
that dress-like robe
favored by choirs and kings.

A moment or two to savor
a pleasant job well done,
while scudding clouds
and a pin-prick breeze
drop snowflakes on her tongue.

How to exit an angel
once a perfect one’s been made?
That’s a question to try
anyone’s soul
so late on a chilling day.

But she will prove worthy
of even this daunting task,
she’ll slither and turn,
and somehow squirm
out of that new angel’s grasp.

Then tip-toe up the body
before jumping a foot or so
to leave complete
one space replete
with an angel in the snow.

The cold trail home grows longer
with every exhausting step,
her day sledding
on the slippery hill,
something she’ll almost forget.

Then just as the sun abandons
and the wind take a bitter turn
she sees the sight
of that dim porch light;
she enters unconcerned.

They’ll be cocoa on the table
and soaked socks beneath the chair.
Who would suspect what their little angel
accomplished on her way there?

Merry Christmas

©2012 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: Christmas Angels Snow Christmas