Cascades
by Mike Berger

It was a dreary day; dark and somber.
The smell of moisture hung heavy in
The air. It was still and cold.

A gentle snow began to fall; it broke
the dark spell. Fluffy flakes danced
in the sky. There was a strange
magical feeling to the snowflake’s
Gypsy dances. The thirsty forrest
Gobbled up the flakes.

The trees across the pristine scene
had no winter coats; their stark, bare
arms jabbed the sky. Softly, a layer
of stillness distilled.

Snow piled up on the branches, then
a clump would break away. It would
rain down on the branches below. A
cascade on fine powder burst open.

The forest is so use to rain ;so used to
the tap dance of falling drops on lazy
puddles must now learn to a waltz.

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