…And still it kept falling
The cars, stranded by the roadside,
became geography: the drifts
sculpted them into mountains,
landmarks – we navigated by them;
each sloping roof loomed overhead -
an avalanche waiting to happen.
It wasn’t long before some got spooked:
all straight lines and architecture lost
in liquid landscape; bereft of the familiar
white-noise lullaby of traffic;
their eyes, wild with a snowblind panic,
as they searched the world for horizon.
Looking up into the dark,
we saw that the snow was also afraid:
an angry swarm of flakes, swooping down
into the lamplight, like so many fireflies;
ringing silence into the Earth -
a million tiny, crystal bells.
