I’m watching the snow fall,
winter’s first day, midwestern ritual,
we dress for this,
we pray it might blanket the dead.
The thought of fear and trepidation,
a far and away distant memory when lost
in the beauty of a fresh freeze,
playing in the cool morning breeze.
I wonder about the shelter of some,
in this season of giving, murdered by the take
of a society ruthless in their loss of compass –
that measure of humanity we seemed blessed
as a child suddenly lost in the mire of want.
We might take a moment and breathe together
realize this is the same as last year, and will fall
in similar manner to symbolize the beauty of loss,
our departure from knowing life beyond Nature.
We cannot control the weather, no matter the vice
to hide our hearts from the reality of our own advice.