Pretty Snowflakes

Pretty snowflakes falling free,

Big and fluffy as can be,

White and icy crystals all,

Don’t you know it’s still the Fall?

Pretty snowflakes in the sky,

Soon in a blanket you will lie

Upon my paddock green no more

Will I find grass I can adore.

Pretty snowflakes everywhere

Floating like you have no care.

In my eyes and up my nose

And places you would not suppose.

Pretty snowflakes how we play

Though you have turned the skies to grey.

I buck and squeal; you silent chase.

Together winter we embrace.

Pretty snowflakes on the ground,

Everywhere I look you’re found. 

Surely you know when to quit.

It’s almost time for mom’s visit.

Pretty snowflakes that’s enough.

I've had it with all this white stuff.

I want to see my mom today

We've had our fun, now go away.

* * *

Who doesn't love the first snowfall? 

The gentle snowflakes wafting on a winter wind and cascading quietly to engage with an anxiously awaiting Earth are such a novelty. And to run; to chase; to play with Sam, my paddock buddy, across the fluffy mounds of white stuff ... boy, I feel like a foal again. Everything is such a delight! 

The snow is also the first invitation to hibernate; to chill. It's when mom pulls out my warm winter blankies and I can be toasty and warm in my cool stall at night, and protected against the inclement conditions outside during the day. Beautiful piles of plentiful hay are mine for the eating and winter tales are bandied about the barn at night as the herd and I all drift off to sleep. Yes, it is a cosy, romantic, time -- that first snowfall.

Then soon harsh reality sets in as I and the rest of the herd realize that the first snowfall leads to a second and a third and ... well, it's not romantic anymore, is it? I get tired of wearing blankets; of slipping on icy spots. Suddenly I notice when my ears are cold, or the water trough is frozen over, or there are snowballs  wedged in my shoes ... all things I ignore with the novelty of the first snowfall.

And then I am downright annoyed if the white fluffy stuff gets in the way of my mother's daily ministrations, which it does from time to time. This is just not done!

So, pretty snowflakes are lovely for a while, and then I wish they'd just go away. 

Only three and a half months until Spring ...

See you anon,

Shakespeare "The Equine"

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2010