Late afternoon snow fell
like confetti from the twilit sky:
grey flakes crowded the air,
plastered east sides of trees
impasto, leaving a work
by some pallette knife artist
whiting out everything from his view

but from my angle
there are still black rough edges
sketched in and although
the winter-fraught grass is
all but buried, I see it, too
and in it,
a promise
that this squeaky
grey twilight kludge
that records our crunchy progress
like plaster casts at a crime scene
it will vanish, and with it, winter.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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