Weightlessness is so often a trait
attributed to clouds on the horizon.
And yet, when I look upon them, they
have a heft to them, rolling gray.
There is mass in the distance, and it
brings with it the promise of snow.
I move from my perch and retreat,
despite the clear air, inside my home.
And I sit and wait at the window, feeling
nothing but the warmth seep into my bones.
By the time the snow arrives, I am content
by the fire, blanket tucked across my lap.
It is a feeling that has no equal, a smell
in the air first, long before anything falls.
And so I watch through chilled glass as the
first flakes of the season fall upon the landscape.
There is so much more to come, an entire
winter full of the white blanket of snow.
But the magic remains; first snowfall
held within heavy, weighted clouds.
