At the Beginning Again

Those thin threads of thought
I laid to lead me back through 
the labyrinth I lost myself in
are buried beneath 
the bleach-white blanket
of the season's first snow.
My mind is blotted clean.
Upon waking, I've forgotten the dream.
I must accept I don't know the way,
and I have no sense of place
except to call this 
the beginning again.