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  • Writer's pictureBruce Siebold

Night Visitor

While I slept I did not stir as the snow gently fell upon Eighty Acres. For who can hear a snowflake fall? Flake upon flake falling from the night sky, quietly covering each tree and each blade of prairie grass upon the land. Unlike a summer storm which proudly announces itself with bravado and banging drums, this night visitor quietly draped the land in a white quilt and then slipped away before the sun appeared. So this morning I feel no need to be in a hurry. No need to quickly begin to shovel. No need to disturb a single snowflake. I'll just sit, have another cup of coffee and enjoy the beautiful gift from the night visitor.

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