snow is forecast
the day lies cat still
belly up to the log fire
in the midnight minutes.
no moon or stars tonight,
the sky is stalking the snow lark
for the morning’s children.
the trepidation of every winter
builds in the guts.
if it will, and it will,
seems to be the collected awe.
the shawled in times,
the do not venture out times.
the fire follows the cat
to sleep. the ash is snow white,
the glow has gone missing.
the bed soon warms to dream
of summer and winter mixed,
in the way dreams do.
on the verge of a something
is the recurrent spark of life,
when we defy the death of
fear; way back to the garden
the snowflake is the fig leaf
of our naked fears.
that we must endure to reach
summer says bring it on.
let us cuddle up now, for
it advances nearer and nearer.
in sleep we quake,
awake we take comfort
from the lore of the soothsayers.
for as we stare and stare,
the first flakes fall.
