White Wave

Like a time-slowed wave, emerging in pieces from the sky (rather than all-at-once from the sea) it came, rested, and now pulls back. No sand beneath. Instead: earth, still tight with cold. This retreat is time-shifted-slow, as well. Regressing like water, but over days instead of seconds.

Winter and its court are measured, moving in a different layer of time. (Except for ice, perhaps, who is slow in its heart but fast on its skin.)

Here, now, in a day that is bright and slightly fretful, the snows are melting back: revealing earth, slumber-browned grass, and small puddles of frozen water. There is a plane slipping through the bright white sky.

And the roads are clear. And quiet.

I am tired...though it is not early, nor especially late. A bit light-headed from not eating enough today.

Sitting here, thinking of the snow outside.

That white wave, falling back in slow motion.