Snow covers a landscape all too familiar.

Winter’s clutch on suburban Maryland is slowly tightening.

I listen close for just one sound of life,

But nothing can be heard during this lifeless time.

The view of snow blankets the landscape.

It covers the trees, the grass, and the bushes.

The snow shields nature from its true form

At this time of year it is the form of death

Just as winter’s wrath has grasped me,

In my silent home in suburban Maryland,

Death has its grip on nature,

For this time of the year is like no other.

The wind blows picking up thousands of little snowflakes,

And moving them to a place unknown.

As the wind howls,

My thoughts transform.

Nature is not dead at this time of year.

Nature is always flourishing, thriving, and inspiring.

This landscape ahead of me is not a graveyard,

But a beautiful blank backdrop to paint my life upon.