Winter's Last Gasp
It began with rain, pelting
yellow daffodils to the ground.
Sleet rode rain's coattails,
staccato dings on our windshield.
In the empty parking lot,
black-lettered buses stood
empty; no church today.
Through potato-soup lunch,
we watched quarter-size
snowflakes cover sleet.
Over hours of a long, gray day,
snow mounded, transformed
familiar objects into phantoms.
Suet cake brought birds,
squabbling for food,
through the rising mantle.
One kicked snow behind
on the deck floor, its tiny feet
scratching like a chicken.
Wild Wind swept in,
shoved snow off tree limbs,
cleared rooftops, created
a sweeping screen of white
in the snowy air.
World without color,
a total whiteout of raw beauty,
surpassed only by concern
for the birds.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2015
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