A cold frost slinks into sight.
The start of a winter freeze
In the air up high

White powder drifts from the sky
Scattering down to meet your eye.

A lonely but beautiful sigh
Escapes the softness above.

Waving flakes swirl by,
Sharing their final breath
As they say goodbye.

In the darkness of the night,
At midnight’s hour
Releases quiet but regretful cry.

At last,
The final traces of white
That once shown bright
Gives way to the sprouting rye

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This scene was inspired by a writing prompt from the “Promptly Written” Publication.

Time and Place
I’ll give you the when and where–you create the rest
Midnight–a wheat field