A free verse poem written from a winter storm's perspective.

Suddenly falling temperatures
announce my arrival.
Gusty winds under gray sky precede me.
Freezing rain indicates my intent.
I breathe out frigid air, turning
the rain to sleet that is unrelenting.
I coat all surfaces with ice,
ice that makes the bare branches
of leafless trees glisten,
that makes branches of evergreens
sag and droop with added weight,
that turns roadways and sidewalks
into slippery hazards. Still I sleet.
Soon the sound of my chattering sleet
is accompanied by the creaking and
cracking of snapping tree branches.
The roads and yards become littered
with downed trees and power lines.
Feel my power. Know I have seized control.

I create an icy wonderland, but
you complain about loss of electricity
and inability to drive your vehicles.
The streets are mostly deserted now,
as those drivers foolish enough
to challenge me slide and careen
out of control. Wrecks adorn my icy
roadways. I’ve delivered enough ice,
so now I switch to blowing snow.
My Arctic breath has temperatures
well below freezing. As the snow falls,
animals huddle together in fields and woods,
while people huddle in their warm houses.
I snow and I snow until the world
wears a thick blanket of pure whiteness.
Now I rest and enjoy my handiwork.
I have produced a panorama of beauty.

Everywhere there is quiet, punctuated
by the occasional cannon report
of a tree limb crashing to the ground.
Birds sit with feathers puffed
to their maximum for insulation.
Wispy smoke trails from chimneys.
Bundled-up children brave my frost-biting
cold to play with frosty breaths and red cheeks
in my white winter playground.
Snowmen and snowball fights break out.
The young and the young-at-heart
see the beauty I sculpt with ice and snow.
The old see only the inconvenience of
my passing gift and complain of destruction.
Regrettably, my winter creations last only
a few days, but rest assured, I plan more visits
before spring banishes me.