Snow in November is

today a dusting like powdered sugar on a cake,
an intro, an hors d' oeuvers, a preview,
pink in the dark before dawn,

tomorrow gone, like a one night stand
or a braxton hicks contraction.

pending and felt in an aching knee or shoulder,
sensed in the heart, before Christmas songs are heard
on the radio.

everywhere discussed,
 "it's going to snow next week,"
I read to my people and look up
from the paper’s weather page
as we sit around the table in the morning,
as we always do.
"When?"
"Next Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday."

next week unstoppable,
except from an unlikely angelic intervention,
unstoppable like it’s mighty cousin, the hurricane,
like the earth turns into and away from the sun.

often accompanied by emotions,
"I hate snow. I might fall."
"I love snow.  It’s like vanilla ice cream.”
“Then I’m pushing you into the snow!”

soon to be a white sprawling sculpture garden,
a filagree of diaphanous stars in morning light,
turning everything into marble, slow-moving forms.

soon to be winter's constant companion,
as are we, no matter if we wish and wait for spring,
would rather fly to Florida, sit winter out,
or are the snow-balling, angel-making, cross country skiing,
snow shoeing, ice skating, ice sculpting,
hair-turning-white-with-snow kind.

a nondiscrimination unifier,
"Good thing is, we'll be
in the snow together!”

it will take decades
to uproot this invasive
president trump plant

Holy Spirit

Snow falls and Spirit
exchanges for my sorrow
a coat and shovel,
if I am willing,
a coat and shovel,
if I am willing.
Snow falls and Spirit
exchanges for my sorrow
a coat and shovel,
if I am willing.
I put on the coat,
woolen and warm,
pick up the shovel,
steel and wood handle.
Snow is falling on me.
Holy Spirit, I am willing.