Sunlight glides across the rooftop.
Through venetian blinds,
Light filters below, // seeping onto white-painted wooden boards.
Beneath the azure sky,
The small town transforms // Into an intoxicating snow country.

In childhood, I glimpsed Swan Lake,
Once dreaming, like Nils Holgersson, // of soaring on wings.
Lost in thought, I sit // at a white table waiting,
As power lines string // fresh flowers over white houses.

Tightening, climbing upward along white window sills,
I gaze at white // window frames from within.
There, in that snow-crafted house,
White daydreams unfold.
Even the shadows spilling onto the street
As I walk past, it is white, // snowy.
Into every corner of sight,
Sunlight has woven white dreams.
Behind glass, everyone smiles,
waves, greetings.
Between each tile my feet skip across
Lies a blanket of white fragments.

In the distant mountains of snow county,
Fear and joy simultaneously return // to their source.
Behind this ordinary window of glass,
The land beneath my feet yearns.