Early Snow

My limbs
and fingers ache,
delighted as a child
at this whiteness--

this pure, spun sugar
that melts on the tongue,
almost sticky
as a carnival.

When the power
failed,
I groaned,
lit candles, and retrieved
the book
next to the bed
I hadn't had time
to read.

Flannel,
a glass of wine,
and words.

Nearly heaven
and just
as quiet.