An Ontology of Snow

Dec 2 2012

The perfect geometry of spheres.

Stacked, and smoothed by hand

he stands

in a field of trampled snow.

You can see the furrows

where he was rolled;

snow, begetting snow.

A boulder, slowly fattening,

until small children

slithered and fell, face-first,

overwhelmed

by their creation.

He is not two-faced, multi-layered

complicated.

Unblinking eyes

betray no inner life,

his roly-poly girth

is mirthless.
He is the same

through and through,

smooth unblemished skin

the undeceptive grin

of brittle plastic.

A poor simulacrum

of his busy makers,

whose stressful lives

we minimize

have grown to forget.

He sags leans shrinks

in quick decline

in winter’s pitiless light.

Briefly rallies

on colder nights.

A short and frugal existence

justified

by the joy he gives.

All the children

in their colourful coats

and whimsical hats,

who felt, for a moment, like minor gods

on that primeval field of snow.

Not even disappointed

his life is short,

so certain they’re immortal.