White teardrops fall from the sky.
Children’s giggles fly by
as the bare wooden board
descends the soft hill.

Sweet steamy smells wafting through,
warming noses of all.
Local cafe’s sign reads:
“One-dollar cocoa”

Newscaster holds microphone
size of her freezing head.
Her foot swinging behind,
she slips in the white.

Identical stone houses
slumping in a neat row
filled with scarlet warm light
from the snapping fire.

A young girl rolling a ball
twice her tiny torso.
Her friends swallow some snow,
cooling their sore throats.

The hushed sun scurries to bed,
the old town following.
Only soft snores are heard.

When the white stops glistening,
puffy clouds stop crying,
dewey grass gets greener.

That’s when I wake up.