Snow poem for a SNOW DAY: (inspired, like all works of genius, by the combination of coffee, and lack of sleep)

'The white wind snakes its way across the snow
Coils, hisses, and is gone.
And starkly perfect ridges wait to catch
The meager light of dawn
Casting shadows where a watcher sees
Snow, bluely mirroring trees.'

That's how it seemed at three o' clock this morning anyway- so I scribbled it down in the margins of my notebook, and kept pegging away at Sartre. When I made a coffee run to the C-store at 11, the snow was falling in downy tufts of crystal so thickly I could barely see. The whole campus is transformed- there's something faintly artificial about it, as though one were wading across a vast stage, carefully decorated for a play, but not appearing in its true character. The cedars flaunt their costumes majestically, but the poor ornamental dwarf trees in the landscaped patches seem rather sheepish about it all. It's beautiful, and, somehow, not real. I lobbed a few snowballs at a walnut tree, with pathetic results- I'm a lousy pitcher! :-) It was somewhat depressing when I realized that there isn't a single person here on campus with whom I would feel comfortable starting a snowball fight. Considering my throwing abilities, however, it's probably all for my own good...