First Snow

As children, we’d eagerly look to the skies

for that first real snow to fall, reading,

even then, the signs of snow in the air,

frosty mornings and the bitter chill of moist air

harboring those first flakes. And with our faces

pressed against the window, eager, we’d watch

those flakes form and fall, big flakes

sticking to everything, piling high, snowbound!

By bedtime, we knew what the morning held,

enough snow for boots and mittens and sleds

already pulled and dusted off from their summer slumber,

ready and waiting us and a winter storm, a day off from school,

and the big hill a-bustle with the neighborhood kids

racing down, scarves trailing in our wake,

and trudging back up, our mittens wet and dangling,

hats askew, snow-laden sleds dragged behind us.

But now, though we still remember frosty mornings

and the bitter chill of moist air,

we hope we’ve misread what we know we haven’t,

looking for yet another warm day in autumn.

We aren’t ready yet for the cold that bites at our core

even as we pull our hats down low and our collars up,

wondering why we stay, tired as we are of winter,

not joining the snowbirds’ southbound journey

to warmer climes, Florida and tropical breezes,

an umbrella’d drink and short sleeve shirts on a winter’s day.

Perhaps it’s because we again see that childish

face pressed against the glass, eager anticipation

looking through to a sunless sky, overcast and holding

the promise of snow and a neighborhood hill

a-bustle with our childhood selves racing down

and trudging back, snow laden, a day off to be young.