The skiffs of snow
spiral down, joining the white
marble sands covering the grass,
the darkness barely covering
the wet of the day’s storm,
promising ice tomorrow, whiter mountains,
and windy Arctic sky.
Tea kettle flame soon to bring
warmth in my hands
melting the honey, opening the leaves
of Sri Lankan tea, orange, and spice,
taste of another place, another
My book opens,
ready for another chapter,
north wind shaking the window,
my blanket promising a warm sleep,
while night winds howl.
Guitar strings, strummed tonight,
fingertips redented from chords
of the old holiday song, now
in my finger
Cat, cold from outside gales,
finds my lap, drying his snow wet paws
on my jeans, damp fur
against my sweater, and
supper filled tummy.
I ponder the day’s trip over the mountain,
snow levels falling, trucks adding chains
trees burdened with snow,
And flaggers huddled against the wind
Only a memory.
--Neal Lemery 11/2010