February

How

the snow falls

in thick

wet

chunks,

blowing through metal chimes.

Dancing

and slowing

and falling and

stuttering away quickly.

Twirling

and back flipping,

spinning through space,

onto

my side porch.

Pelting and

floating

and

oof,

to the floor.

“I’ll see you come morn!”,

said the shovel

at the door.

csh.