Everything is frosted, powdered in white. The contours and curves of the ground are softened, altered. When the wind blows it puffs clumps of tumbling snow from tree branches and powerlines. Steady snowflake specks swirl from the featureless, ice-colored sky.
The roads are wet black lines.
January's first Monday is one step away from monochrome. What colors there are are pale and filtered thin by snow light.
It is quiet.
If you could capture the color of blue-white Winter moonlight and pour it over the world in daytime, it might look like this.
Such soft cold beauty.
And I suspect that things will be going even more luminous as the light sinks down behind the hills.
This, I think, would be a good night for reading...with a glass of deep red wine. Maybe the tick of a clock the only sound in the background. Stopping now and then to think about lacy flakes swimming slowly down, unseen, from a pitch-black sky.
2003, in her early hours, is a soft pale princess with a gown of frost and snowflakes, sweeping low...
I googled the term "princess january" because I used it in a poem of my own, but in mine, she was a prima dona, weaing rabbit fur, and seating tables.
I didn't know what I meant, but I grew up in Maine, and I understand and love your poem.
please don't give my address to penis enlargement people...
bas.
Thanks Bas. I'm glad you liked this view of Princess January.
Best Wishes,
--- John