The clouds have rolled in,
Blanketing the plains,
Muffling the sounds.
The highways are empty,
For it is Christmas Eve,
And it’s midnight,
The animals are hiding
Or hibernating,
Because it’s so cold.
The wind is not noticed,
So you cannot hear a sound.
Nothing moves.
There is no whisper,
No rustling,
No breathing,
Nothing
Like a cave or a tomb.
And we strained our ears...
But, no jingling.
Written during an unprecedented several-week winter storm in Oklahoma. The landscape was covered in layers of snow, ice, and sleet, and our electricity had been out for days.