It’s okay, he said.

The snow began to fall,

and he wondered about the natural course of things.

While tucked away in the corner,

reflections of life

carried on,

a conversation between two lovers,

innocent to the eyes around,

simply enthralled

she said with a smile,

and he

sort of moved in.

 

They hadn’t really experienced life yet,

thought the onlooker,

his coffee now calling

a lovely segue into creating a moment

for himself.

 

Little boy walks right up to his knee

stares with doe eyes,

and the writer has to

make a choice,

usher him away or smile,

and a voice beckons and the little boy

retreats to dad,

letting peace again consume

the quiet man behind the eyes,

waiting for the storm,

waiting to watch the snow fall,

like a memory may not remind

the immediacy of Winter

a nearing charm.

 

In the middle of the night

he might wake to find

his heart beating

at a rapid rate,

a telling reminder of another time,

when snow fell from branches

like angelic boughs,

a plop to the sunlit morning,

the cars drifting along the avenue,

in some remarkable ceremony,

his time to say good-by,

his time to wonder why.

 

Sitting now, the snow has begun to fall,

so many moments like tonight … a gentle breeze.