I Wonder

Snow is falling, falling.
Gently the icy flakes fly to the ground.
I stand in the middle of the fluttering flakes.
They are tiny and cold,
Cold when they hit my face and hands.

I look up.
I can barely see when I look straight up
Because snow falls in my eyes.
So I step back,
Under the roof of the house.

But then outlines catch my eye—
Black, sharp, high in the sky,
Dark against the white backdrop of the sky,
But partly muffled by the dancing snowflakes.
Birds!

Up in the sky they flap above me
In a pattern, in a flock.
As I watch them, I wonder . . .
What is it like to fly so high through falling snow?