Waiting for Snow

We are waiting forever, this season, for snow.
A barren November has been and gone,
and still the stark woodland stands empty,
and now December, the wait not done.

I dream I am falling light as air through
darkest night, where velvet boughs
reach out like arms to catch me there
in flight. Then dreaming slows, thin day

appears, and we wake to a cover of
silent white descending. The long
gray wait is over, the long hour ending,
and, soundless, the snow begun.


(12/20/90)