December Moon by May Sarton

One night when I was visiting Grand Rapids, I was awakened at 3:30 a.m. by the sound of hard scraping from the driveway. I knew the cold meant snow, and I felt it in my bones. But I never thought about the folks who get up at that ungodly hour to go scraping snow off of people's driveways. What did they think about? What did they do? Did it feel like they were at play in the dark? Did they think about making shapes instead of simply clearing away all that white flurry packed on concrete? Did they ever want to pile the snow in front of people's front doors like gift packages to be opened? Were they ever beguiled by the white snow reflected in moonlight -- tempted to momentarily forget their jobs and simply marvel at that snow silence?

Before going to bed
After a fall of snow
I look out on the field
Shining there in the moonlight
So calm, untouched and white
Snow silence fills my head
After I leave the window.

Hours later near dawn
When I look down again
The whole landscape has changed
The perfect surface gone
Criss-crossed and written on
Where the wild creatures ranged
While the moon rose and shone.

Why did my dog not bark?
Why did I hear no sound
There on the snow-locked ground
In the tumultuous dark?

How much can come, how much can go
When the December moon is bright,
What worlds of play we'll never know
Sleeping away the cold white night
After a fall of snow.