Fields shorn, the grey stubble stands
November mist wanders through the draws
eyes closed, the frost delivers its fatal kiss
at last the hills surrender their weary colors
I am out here on the front step shivering
enduring a cataclysm of bare wind and dagger ice
just waiting for the first flake of pretty snow to fall
Author’s Notes:
I’m afraid I’ve taken liberties with reality here—this year we got snowed on in October. November is a nicer sounding month name though, and the month when the first snow should happen, so I’ve taken poetic license.
Favorite Line:
“enduring a cataclysm of bare wind and dagger ice”
Line with the Best Alliteration:
“just waiting for the first flake of pretty snow to fall”