Frosty Pilgrimage

Gray dappled clouds loom
pregnant with snow
as evergreen pipe cleaners
brace
once again

All the while
I gaze out
the ice glazed window
feeling a rare blend
of warmth and chill

Now fully settled
in this pilgrimage
I sigh
knowing I am safe
yet still undiscovered

Having Left behind
all that’s not
secured and true
on the twisty
icy
country roads
to Stowe

At first
the wintry hush
lulls me sleepy
awaiting the
downy ambush
of a Vermont nap

But then
I am aroused
dare I say haunted
by the frost of Robert's
nose print upon the glass

Though I see no footprints
I know he was there
peering in
impishly
to cajole me
out of dozing

Hoping instead
to bait me inward
to use poetic eyes
and witness
His fluffy snow blown
masterpiece

Finally I relent
as if there
ever
was a doubt
breathing in deep
holding it
and the moment

Drifts of snow seem
like

a powdered canvas
a pallid palette  
a frosted nude

absent any desecration
longing for my first
deft stroke

Muffled blowing
catches
the window sill
jarring
inspiration
free
as we recite, once again
"Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening"