By Richard Grahn
Evanston, Illinois, USA
empty parking lot—
a breath of foggy air
frosts my glasses
Today marks the first of this year’s snow. It’s been frigid enough the past week for crystals to accumulate. But autumn blankets the snow with its trademark flare—leaves falling so fast, it’s hardly a fair contest.
A child shakes her snow globe . . .
The where-I-stand-now erupts with a gale-force howl, snow and leaves rise from the pavement in painted pirouettes—here-to-there-to-here. I lean into the flurry—face frozen—this moving picture spinning me in a dance between the seasons . . .
But, quickly as the howl arises, the child falls fast asleep, her miniature world resting on the pillow beside her. In the where-I-stand-now, sky and trees resume their ways—snow and leaves drifting down, painting Earth another shade of dream.
open music box
the crunch of boots dancing
around the globe