The day flirts with snow —
In the morning, lets some fall,
though it’s far too warm for it to stick;
In the dimming afternoon,
sports a portentous light
in the pockets of the clouds —
Shades of blue and cream
between the stark, bare limbs of trees,
that calls for snow.
There is some sense of magic
in the stillness
where, at their tips
the white pine’s needles hold their muted pearls,
that makes me hope
for that white transformation
that stops time,
Makes me catch my breath
in the freshness and the sweetness
of the now.
The day flirts with snow —
It won’t deliver
But at least it kissed my soul
with its bright shiver.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 10, 2013