Infinite answers to multitudinous prayers for
somebody’s White Christmas
fall silently on the town.
Each solitary flake a unique expression of
that moment when cold air
froze that water particle
too heavy now to remain in the cloud above.
So it falls to us to marvel at the sight
as we swerve and slide
to avoid the truck crossing
the intersection of God’s scintillating beauty
and our pending arrival in the same time and space.
The truck looms large before us
and greets us
to a chorus of car horns and mayhem,
wailing sirens and flashing lights,
our intimate connection
to the town’s emergency room
in full crisis mode.
Thousands of Snow Angels and Snowmen all round
wearing what we no longer will.
Snow plows move the white mass to make way
for the next vehicular collision
a trillion atoms,
thrown sand and salt to the sound of a million boots
sliding over the whole recipe for a winter wonderland.
Winter takes hold of the evergreen trees across the way
decked out with white sleeves,
the truck in the neighbor’s driveway now just a rectangular white slab.
Tiny white flakes wrap themselves around the Bird House
in the dormant front garden–
the occupant has moved south to a new address.
The scrape of the shovel and motors of snow blowers
punctuate the air for a total auditory experience.
Then, when all falls silent
a soft silent night arrives,
The white blanket cast over it all.
Sentinel armies of all knowing trees provide hope of spring.
by Thomas Martin Sobottke