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.