Ten days old now,
the snow--what remains--
has lost its lightness,
has become hard, slick
dangerous, melting each day,
refreezing each night.
When it fell, I walked
from my studio
to take out my trash,
through fourteen inches
of wet and cold morning.
Now, when I go outside,
what remains is mostly on the grass,
at the edge of parking lots,
thinly spread on sidewalks
I have learned to carefully
navigate in boots--
not my tennis shoes.
Another week
of sunlight, and fifty degrees,
and maybe it will leave once
and for all, only to be replaced
by the next, inevitable, storm.
The groundhog didn't see his shadow,
so perhaps the snow won't fall
as late into this year
as it has in years past.
Copyright © 2016 by the author
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