“Fooled by the Purity of Snow?”
A poem
The days grew short
Yet, the weather was about to take a turn.
She rued the moonlit sky
about to mask the daylight.
A soft breeze blew strands of hair.
Gustier winds brought a brutal blinding storm.
By five PM, the moon’s rays hid the warm sunshine.
One misstep could lead to a dangerous slip on
treacherous icy patches.
Temperatures fall below freezing range.
Tiny flakes drifted on bare boughs of trees,
changing their color from brown to white.
Just days ago, sweet to sight and touch.
Step wisely to home. Slow down. Puddles of water
will turn to invisible ice to throw off her balance.
Causing a nasty fall, perhaps a broken hip.
It is better to miss the evening news than be deceived
by the allure of the sight of crystalline flakes
Black magic, they tease as they illuminate the night
and become powerful pellets.
You’re seventy, not seventeen.
