Late Winter Snow
Shoveling snow is rhythmic work,
the scrape of a shovel against
pavement
a sharp growl, guttural, cut short
in lifting
and the whisper of snow tossed into
the wind,
blown back, crystalline flakes that
strike my cheeks,
exposed and reddened by the chill
air
of a late winter snow falling,
unexpected,
building up and forcing me out into
the cold,
rhythmic work, done slowly, taking
me away
and into myself, self-absolved in
shoveling snow.
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Spring Snow
Spring snow blows down from the
peaks, lightly,
blown by a strong wind, reminding
us,
despite groundhogs unafraid and
robins’ rust
returning, that winter sets its own
hours,
leaving as it arrived, unannounced,
in its own time.
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