by Dahlia Tera

And first, there are children’s laughters,
Joy in the eyes looking at the miracle
That comes down from heaven:
The celestial vault falls to the ground
And everything gets confused.
Children stick out their tongues to
The white and cottony flakes
Coming down slowly;
Undulating, they deposit delicately
As if not to disturb.
No snowflake exists alike.
Sometimes, one of them seems lost
Back to the sky sketching on ascent.

The air is swarming with white
And Nature listens…
She dresses her vast spotless cloak
Covered with crystals, like a princess.

The sleepy snow transforms and protects.
She loves the trees and the fields,
She kisses them softly in her eddies.
Sometimes, she is slippery:
She dances hanging as a little flighty girl.
She weighs little in the fresh air.

To some she is hostile,
Like the too beautiful things,
Intangible, indiscernible..

The child imagines
The confectioner’s icing sugar,
The miller’s flour, the mason’s lime,
The painter’s brush with his most winter tint,
Spreading a veil of beauty over all.
Even the children listen respectful,
The silence on the rooftops.

“God sprinkles rain of stars”, they say
And they speak of mystery,
Of press, of candor, of angels…

First there were the children’s laughters,
Now the snow becomes poetry,
She is blessings from the heaven,
A kind of spiritual purification
In her neat soft white,
In her miraculous elegance.

The dust of God
Made with grains of soul..
Momentary magical metamorphosis
When everything is tinged
With peaceful limpidity.

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