No Signs at All of Our Existence

Woke this morning to the sounds of the State plow scouring the road----sounded like he was grinding the asphalt to bits! Walked out on the porch to enjoy the gently falling flakes and flushed a mourning dove from the woodpile right at my bare feet. I'm not sure who was more startled but he/she flew to the oak and we two silently observed the snow silently drifting down around us. Hours later as I look at the bough on which it perched the snow is thick and undisturbed showing no evidence at all of its having rested there. The prints of my bare feet, too, are obliterated. And the snow keeps falling, hiding secrets beneath its winter white.