It was almost midnight
when the first snow whispered down
and over the next few hours
transformed the world
into something closer to how we wanted it.
At 2 am,
we stepped outside,
saw gardens and streets
- all known, familiar -
but in a different light,
hushed and alien
under a soft white inch
that creaked under boots,
before everyone else
could tread it to sludge
and muddied greyness.

Remembering another night,
- warmer,
elsewhere -
but much the same:
the tide gone out
leaving sand unspoiled,
unbroken by the footprints
of people who were not us,
moonscaped by moonlight,
perfect and ours.

We could have been the sole survivors of some strange and silent apocalypse.

The next day,
everything changed back again,
the street, the beach...
we couldn't keep it for ourselves forever.
But I remember those two nights:
snow and sand,
and no one else
but us.

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