First Big Snow

The snow's like a big wind--
the kind of creature that floods a world
and doesn't care a fig how long it took
to do your hair this morning.
Everyone's a bit friendlier
in light of the common enemy.
The roads are dark gray gruel;
the sidewalks, intermittently scraped;
the traffic, wet, dirty, and loud
as a mongrel banned from the house
after a mud puddle run.

Only the park whispers a life
of silence--of tree arms stretched
to rest an inch of snow,
of smooth plains hinting of paths,
and lamp posts suggesting the way
to the pond and beyond it, the river--
this tribute to the wild,
this fringe of grass and woods,
this quiet place where snow belongs
to whisper and dance through songs
of brown leaves and wrinkled boles
and hooked burs benevolenced
by white.