A Sonnet to the First Snowfall

Jack couldn't wait for the year’s first snowfall.
He loved to tread the blanket of white alone,
to leave a trail of footprints as he walked
the fresh powder, to hear its crunching groan.

As he inhaled the frigid crisp air, he reveled
he’d climbed that long hill to gaze at
the evergreens glittering in white splendor
so thick, their branches bowed as if at prayer.

Most of all he relished the seclusion,
ice fishing not safe, deer hunters long gone,
No birds chirped their songs, nor did saws rumble,
only the swaying treetops hummed their song.

Jack soaked in the scene he surveyed, grateful
that all he saw was part of his domain.