Butter-coloured sky
The snow fell all day.
We rolled and rolled
whiteness
down the hill;
a snowman our final victory.
Snowflakes flew everywhere,
spiralling against the butter-coloured sky,
willing Spring beyond silence;
birds broke into song.
* Even though she is a native French speaker, Ariane Synovitz enjoys writing fiction in English. She currently lives in Prague, Czech Republic.
