Winter Comes To You, Quietly Poem by F.C. Wade

Winter comes to you, quietly. It arrives at that one precise moment when the atmosphere turns an almost indescribable shade of blue-gray and is at its best in the Indiana countryside. It shows itself to you in a snowy, late afternoon and can be seen best while gazing across a tree lined field or a meadow where everything the snow touches becomes a new piece of God's handiwork. When time has found exactly the right moment, from every direction there comes an amazing crescendo of silence and, in that silence, nature whispers in your ear to tell you just how right things can sometimes be. Winter smells like marshmallows melting in hot chocolate. It sounds like embers popping inside the fireplace and looks like an old stone hearth where the cat sleeps and basks itself beside the smoky warmth of burning hickory. And the best part of winter comes to you, quietly.