Smoky Mountain Snow

 The first snow falling

excites me most of all.

Flakes twirl like doilies

spreading a downy blanket

across the brittle grass.

"Ma Ledford is dusting

her featherbed," Mama said

when I was a child

begging to go outside

and play in the snow.

Donning layers of clothing,

big brother Harold and I rolled

huge balls of snow and stacked

them to make a jolly snowman.

Rover yelped and stamped

paw prints on the crystalline carpet.

Sister Barbara brought her red scarf,

Daddy shared his black hat

for the fat man to wear,

Mama stuck a carrot in the snowman's nose,

my feet froze in the boots.

I looted Mama's box of buttons

and found two big ones that

she cut from Granddaddy's worn-out coat,

and gave the snowman his eyes.

Mama grabbed a dishpan,

scooped up fresh-pure powder,

I did a happy dance 

and our family savored

the delicious snow cream.

As a child, I jumped and screamed

when ole' man winter handed

out his poke of treats,

and created a magical wonderland.

            --Brenda Kay Ledford

Poke:  A mountain term for a bag.

I hope all my blogger friends will have a blessed Thanksgiving and very happy holiday.