Rain Turns to Snow

Nov 4 2019

Rain turns to snow

and back again.

Such a fine balance,

teetering on the point of a pin

tipping this-way-then-that.

A breath of wind

imperceptible tremor;

a mote of dust

landing at random

a slight perturbation of sun.

The incalculable sum

of what little we know

and the innumerable things we don't.

Meanwhile, snow fills the air

but does not accumulate.

So the ground is the usual

dull brown fallow of fall,

cold and wet

in the flat grey light.

Soon, a shroud of snow

will be scoured by wind

and piled into drifts

and conceal our sins of neglect,

the chores we omitted

in preparing for winter

the scars that disfigure the land.

Transforming the lawn

    —   its stranded implements and rusting tools,

prickly weeds

and long-dead patches of grass   —

into a flawless white nirvana.

Then back, next spring

as seasons succeed

the circle turns.

But will this be the year

the balance is lost?

The heavy steadying weight

that, up to now

the centre has always found,

like a roly-poly toy

that tips but doesn't topple?

They talked of nuclear winter

then a hot-house earth;

a small disturbance you'd hardly notice

that exponentially grows.

And all I can do is watch.

A miserable day,

whip-sawed between unseasonable snow

and cold and bitter rain.