Snow Sound Memory

Photo by Pierre Jarry on Unsplash

Slicing snow trail fresh, 
through keen air
we shushed ahead. 
She and I,
in deep night,
all else abed.
Light gray above,
White gray below, 
trees winter dead. 
We shushed ahead.

Then stopped. 
Silence.
We looked around. 
Snowflake clusters, 
in moon glow, 
sifting down. 
Then heard 
snow meet snow 
upon the ground.

Heard? That cannot be so! 
Yet so it seemed,
at twenty below, 
though none else out
to say ’twas so, 
those flowing ages 
and ages ago.

Cold, she and I listened still.
Colder, we shushed back 
(almost against our will)
leaving this memory
with me still,
a snow sound memory 
with me still.

© 2023 P. A. Ritzer