Like a huge down comforter burst open
They hover, hesitate and rush
And seem careful not to collide in their dizzy flight
Their dance accelerates and slows
As the downy crystals give away
The invisible body of today's chill Zephyr
Spinning and stopping in their funny descent
Many slow to a float outside my third story dormer
Before their last ascent with the draft
Up the yellow bricks
Across the quiet street
They're captured by ivy on the proudly-chiseled church:
An oddly flamboyant Romanesque
Never has a window ledge looked so Good
As on these snowy Old Town Victorians
Where this down has come fleetingly to rest;
A yin for the stubborn church's yang
A white blessing on the noble houses in the neighborhood
This old house is scarcely immune to the the soft, soft wind
A body of cold in the dormer where I write
The house's old furnace can't do any more to beat back the sapping cold
Or convince it to be more excited
The cold hurries my chilled-stiff fingers
And makes me want to move
Epilogue:
Which sparks a broader thought-
No wonder the seasonal regions are so prone to industry!
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