Playing In The Snow

I spent the morning playing with snow words and snow images.

Snow Day

What for others is crisp, clean,

even sparkly,

for me is barren and cold.

Waking up to an altered landscape,
your ice-laden purity,
fails to bring the allure of promise.


Instead I see a future with
streets dressed in black, brown and grey-hued
mounds of solidified exhaust

I'll build no snowmen;
I'll forgo an icy descent
belly-down on plastic,
face inches from the
slushy cold.

But you'll mock me nonetheless,
your pristine sameness interrupted
by a parade of turquoise and fuchsia wool.

I too once believed
long ago
your myths of home and hearth
of exploration and adventure
of endless beauty and wonder

But now I know you can only
blanket
the luscious pain and beauty
I've see every day.