It is snowing and snowing. The snow is falling and falling.  Those tiny bits of frozen rain building a blanket deep.  We were only expecting a dusting during the night, but nature had other ideas and the plow had not been by yet at 8:00 a.m. and now nearly two in the afternoon it has only gone by once and my snowplowing contract man not even here yet, though when there is much less he is prompt.    The warning to travelers this day is that conditions are hazardous. 


Snow Storm

Snow storm followed snow storm this winter.

The dreary sunless days and cold cloudy nights

  made me feel grateful for a sturdy house and warm meals.


The days when the lake effect snow drifted without

  stopping, left me claustrophobic as I watched the tiny

  particles of white in their manic dance.

Like little white feathers escaping from a torn pillow,

  the frenzy of flakes flew horizontally in harsh winds.

The picnic table on the patio looked like a marshmallow

 mound all white and round.

Each time a storm passed, leaving a foot or more of

  snow in its wake,  I would put on the down jacket, warm

  clothes, boots, gloves and cap, start to clear a path

   from the garage door to the street so I could drive

  away, if I wanted to go to work or church or the store.

The sky becomes brilliant, the sun begins to melt the

  accumulation; we can see the streets again, traffic returns,

  as we brace ourselves for the next storm. 


Frozen Landscape

Every twig appeared to be candy coated and the iced

branches groaned and creaked as the wind whistled

through their barren boughs.

A frenzy of flurries coated the pine needles like

powdered sugar.

Whirling and whooshing, whisked in the wind the flakes

seemed to come from every direction and quickly cover

unprotected surfaces.

The dreamer lost in memories of gales gone by, stares

through the transparencies of time.  


Snowflake Ballet

Tiny touch of moisture –

  the delicate snowflake falls,

  melts on my face.

So fine is the precipitation –

  each lace like crystal in a

  snowflake ballet,

Pirouetting on the wind –

  gliding to rest on earth’s stage

  like a crystal sugar coating

Delineating each branch –

  or each blade of grass

  like green ice needles in the ground.


Outside my father’s window

Outside my father’s window

  the chickadees were chirping –

A fluff of feathers going round

  as a squabbling pair emerged.

Which would win the perch within

  the confines of the fir to stay the night

From winter’s wind and flurries flying.


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