The wind scatters the snow, wispy white comets
swirling in the air alongside the ever present saltshaker,
encasing the world in a snowglobe.
I watch the drifts swell on the ground, aching with the agony
of the impending shovel.
I think about letting the pathways cover, making a bet with the weather
to see if accumulation can match the power of plenty on either side of my driveway,
hard and crusted over with ice and road dust.
I can’t see the dirt in the drifts any longer,
the waving snow smiling at me as it works its magic
I can’t see the ice either, singing with danger below,
but I know it’s there.