Robert Frost must have stopped by the woods on a day like today:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My woods are filling with snow as huge flakes fall making a white down duvet for the trees behind my house.
The birds are fighting over seed at the bird feeder, their yellow and red beaks a sharp contrast against the snow. A fat dove flies in and wins the fight. The small gray birds fly away to wait.
What a beautiful day here--the snow is wet and heavy--the kind that sticks to the branches of the trees. I hear that my grandkids are having a ball in it, sledding, throwing snowballs and building snowmen.
Me? I am not sticking one toe out until it melts.