Late Winter's Midday Snow

There is no maneuvering in time
no rush to the front of the future
looming large in the next moment
or perhaps a dream of fright-less hope
or drifting backwards to gone days
as sweet or bitter as those might be.

Just now, the midday
with its great gray belly of clouds
Hung distended across the sky
wanting in their pregnancy to release
the water that they bear
and in the cold moment of urgency
let loose a deluge
of broad ragged flakes
which thrust down with great urgency,
a down pour
like a flooding river
fat flakes but without a swirl
and backed by pine or
budded branch
they fly headlong
across the wood.

Birds struggle bent-backed
as they cross the path
of falling flakes
in search of seeds soon
buried by this late winter's storm,
which for the moment
changes courses
from passive
to active
and runs the imagination
'round circles edge.