Laura J. Boggess: Snow dancing

CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- The falling snow in her quiet is my kin. The way she comes, soft, and nests unheard on tree limbs and rooftops -- this, my song. She spins her dance through pale sky and wind with silent grace -- no thunder clapping prologue ... no window tapping insistence. Just this -- slow falling accumulation that takes one by surprise in the morning.

Today we are intimates, my cousin snow and I. This morning she came calling with this gift of replevied beauty -- the land all luminous and pristine -- and reminded me that it is still Christmas. I awakened to the remnants of a week of feasting ... cookie crumbs on the floor, half-eaten trays of confectionaries on the counter, the festive dishes stacked in neat piles. And laundry.