by Kevin T. McEneaney Particles of water fell in the form of snow. Birds gorged themselves at swaying feeder. Tree stumps donned Astrakhan hats. Lace dotted windows. Snowmen magically formed in the afternoon with goofy grins and crooked caps. The street: silent as blanketed woods. One could watch birds eating snow. Sprout Creek rumbled on while no one listened. Everyone appeared to be burning wood while someone somewhere read a book, and someone somewhere wrote a poem, and many gathered by the wood stove.