(marking the melting more than the fall)
First snow fall. A messy affair – the snow has fallen with prejudice, favouring leaves and the narrow edges of fences and walls – avoiding large areas of tarmac and concrete. The effect is uneven and not the completion we know this beast is capable of. On her back windscreen the layer of snow is melting and slipping – opening like a lazy eye.
Second fall. What wasn’t there when we woke now is. This Friday disappears, one settled centimetre after the other. Upturned hanging baskets become snow crusted cages protecting bulb sprouts beneath. The deep huff of snow collapsing beneath her boot steps.
There is a beach of bare path around our door. There are footprints coming close to the house – some look long-pawed, perhaps belonging to the fox I saw in the road last night. I have little left to say about this snow but more maybe on it’s way – the forecasts are vague – perhaps if it comes it will bring my words with it.
She retreads her track to the birdbath and back. The snow falls in fine flakes that make me feel like I’m looking at old photographs of our garden – grown speckled and pale from the drift of memory.
A perfect dome of snow still covers our chosen marker stone. There are other blobs and bumps of snow on the paths and I wish I could learn a frozen form of Braille – to read them and learn the story of what lies beneath.
Surrounded by the drippings of thaw as my word count grows. The snow becomes glassy and darker at it’s base – it starts to let go, surrender this temporary state – it prepares to slide away.
Third fall. An unexpected visitor over night. Cars pass with ruffling toppings – as if someone has pushed back a tablecloth once the meal is over. The tops of fences like the edges of ripped paper – abandon another bad idea.