First snowfall

This morning, my friend Nathalie text-messaged me to tell me the first snowstorm had officially hit home. I smiled, which was the very reaction I'd had just days earlier when that (not so sticky) snowy stuff fell over Baltimore. I took Eska to the farmer's market that Saturday, and we sampled bison meat. Today, under sunny Maryland skies, she came with me to Mrs. Hopkins' house, quiet as quiet can be.

So here, some poetry, inspired by all three:

The (sudden) flurries
- slick -
gave rise to (weathered) panic,
as the feathers flaked and fell.

But only in the North,
in Mary's city there,
where feathers hang but loosely
on the rarefied air.

In southern times,
in southern climes,
in Mary's Mason land,
the showers span for hours
(white)
across a phantom line

and there compel,
in moments
- quick! -,
a rush to the out-doors
where bison meat,
thick, brown, and sweet,
makes happy picnic fare
for masked scavengers,
black and white,
with feathers in their hair.