Metaphoric sheets fog the view
and dust the shaggy lawn
(still waiting for its last manicure)
as snow clouds and temperatures collude
to bring this blizzard shower
on the last October afternoon.
We haven't even navigated
the time change yet, but
thicker coats and jackets will appear now,
turtlenecks, sweaters, flannel sheets,
cocoa, soup, baked squash - choices
we might rather save for later -
swirl down before us in fat flakes
that have slowed their pace now.
They drop with tantalizing deliberateness
on the glass table not yet put away.
Looking up into the still daylit sky,
I see the birth of each white flake
from white nothingness blown from nowhere
and certainly not from that tiny gray blob.
The pace slows even more until
the few crystals left look like orphan moths
lost in the wintry gray sky.
I'm left with a taste in my mouth
of the coming winter.