A Blizzard Poem…

Two hundred or more ice-crystals form one incredible flake

surrounding a tiny speck of dust driven to the clouds by the wind.

So beautiful and shiny when they begin to fall;

our faces turn up, tongues out, to catch the cold sweetness

It turns heavier then, winds whipping-

churning icy crystals to sting and drift.

The winter of 1880-seven months of blizzard-

tunneling to livestock, wood, and water,

the snow just kept coming

October until April-living on whatever could be found.

There was no warning system, no up-to-date weather App.

Days started warm and fair,

blizzards snuck in like conquering armies-

no arrows gave warning, no Highland cries or buglers.

Just a whisper of a breeze

before the steel grey clouds consumed the sun,

and everything turned to biting snow, bitter cold, a battle to survive.