Rather than pull the blinds
to shut the frozen front out
I sit. Waiting. For first flakes.
Moving to the kitchen
busying the knife with chop
Onions. Garlic. Spice.
Out the window, birds fly
to evergreen perch
as the first snow finally falls.
Snow suspends time and
blankets faded summer growths
in winter’s warmth.
Quiet stills street sounds as
traffic moves to busier streets
before the snow plows.
Glad to be in flannel still
I hide behind heavy clouds
like winter’s first full moon.
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