Spring Snow

For snow storms that come in spring
I have great respect,
knowing Winter though definitely aging
can still collect
the gumption to whistle up wind,
turn intellect
to focus one last and inevitable time
on raging.

Winter may forget
the names of the places he's been,
but can still place bets
on the fact of his snow coming down
and is sure to win.

His effort has given me hope
as I walk the slope
of a hill in flake-speckled light
that before I ever get home
will myself be covered in white;

that the winds that blow,
sporadically now, will be calm
as they quiet down
to a level of sleep
and once again
the implacable darkness grows.

The world and I are at peace. 

What it is I know even yet as I'm able to remember
is to take it slow
and enjoy every moment of waking.
Winter shows
what the old can do.