The air promised snowstorm a-coming, perhaps it's the pundits'
TV announcements, percentages mellow fully given, saying my friends:
"Being born someplace in Texas" or was it Oklahoma, The culprit
is brewing, the wind is still, nip in the air or is it the association?
The spin of words, forecast might be blessed with superlatives
and we will not know until tomorrow night and then I'll offer,
"They were lying outright and I explicitly told you so!"
But now late afternoon, the sky is streaked with layered clouds,
puffs and billows, filaments of branches not unlike human myriad veins;
stillness and clarity, no signs of precipitation, residing dryness, quiet, peace;
dismissal of suffering, frost, sleet, icicles, snowflakes, frozen rain...
Perhaps there is truth - weather can change its fair perfect face,
will it come without fanfare one drop at a time, nose, cheek,
at the end of a finger, a palm, a forehead, an extended hand;
the whiteness of damp petals miraculously covering bare land...
10th February 2006
Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York.