sandals left on the snow fence

The silver sky opens at last;
From the cloud pours swirling white.
Flakes come drifting down like fairy feathers
This is pure Michigan.
Softly at first, then heavier and heavier,
‘Til its falling like pillow stuffing,
On heads, houses, and sandals lost and forgotten,
Icing the roads like sugar frosting.
After a summer of beach play,
the little wood snow fence is back at work.