Snow

Snow defines the branches and trunks

of poplars and cedars

outside my window.

Snow frosts the railing of the porch.

Up the mountain space between hardwoods

is white and gray and blue.

Flakes that began as seeds of frozen rain

have bloomed soft, feathery, falling steadily

from sky the color of bone.

Insulated from the world,

I imagine people only a few miles

down the mountain struggling

to reach the promised land of the grocery store,

lining up to receive magic milk and bread.

I stare out my window,

hypnotized by the rhythm of the falling snow.

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