Of Almost-Snow

An air of expectancy groans through nature's bare bones today...

 ...as if one can almost hear Old Man Winter's approach!

Lovers of  'brooding landscapes' better take a long, last look according to the weather-forecast

The air is poked with bare oak branch

And stoked with ‘almost snow’

Across the yard brittle leaves dance

In footloose tic-tac-toe

The land is primed for white that spills

To deck the halls brown-gray

Glad to be clad in sledding-hills

And snow angels at play

The far-off ridge broods blue and bare

It lures the poet’s gaze

To touch the tremble in its stare

And clutch time’s ebbing ways

The earth is like a tambourine

Where tuneless jingles shake

The wind, a minstrel, wild and green

Rattles the balsam brake

…and from each window eager-eyed

A world of children wait

To greet the whirling, twirling tide

As winter opes its gate

© Janet Martin