In a snow-sparkled mountain wilderness,

I met her, was given her name.

 

How the whiteness had no edges.

Every sound: crunch of footfall,

wind-strung note in the branch tips,

the slithering per-flopp of lumps of fluff

descending in a poof of fairy-dust

- then, how the silence itself sang.

A voice-echo of bird or man

carried on the blueness,

the zither and zing of molecules:

negative ions dancing on sunbeams

sparking diamanté lights in my own eyes

 -so she manifest herself.

 

No corners or lines,

 nor wrong-handed angles

affront her beauty.

 

..a whited-out world

which could be called a blizzard:

a birthing of purity - a new beginning...