When the snow has fallen,
I go outside and listen
to the silence. And as I strain
into the blankness,
one by one the small things
raise their voices: the crack
of the ice, the peep of the hawk,
the rush of the bronzed and
lonely leaves. When the snow
has fallen, I go outside and let
the small things and the shy things
tell me how joyous they are—too.