Low tide means that the moon’s gravity
Is at an ebb much like the vibes in this
Packed town, the thin smiles of the local
Populace not broadcasting the desired
Optimism but instead revealing the inner
Frustrations inherent in a lack of lifeblood

Browser refreshing does little to change
The outlook, but is a way to pass the time
Although reading or card playing or knitting
Would be a better choice since we have to take
Our down time when it is forced upon us and
Try to avoid the temptations of idle hands

Patience yields slivers of hope and then one day
Walking home from the store an errant snowflake
Grazes an earlobe and then another lands on the tip
Of a nose and before long every single cell is lighting
Up like the instrument panel on a crashing airliner
Or a Lite Brite for those less inclined to morbidity

As dinner simmers on the stove, flakes fall recklessly
From the sky, clearly ignoring their mother’s instructions
To be gentle with each other and instead swarming with
The frenzy of disturbed wasps as they are whipped around
By a vicious wind taking out its anger on the downy feathers
That pile luxuriously on stoops and roofs and imaginations

Sleep is both critical and challenging as exhaustion fights
With mania for control of the recumbent mind
It is the hypnotic patterns of the driving snow backlit
By the moon that calm, a serenity bolstered by the occasional
Orange and blue glow of the passing plow as it traverses
Town like Paul Revere signaling the incoming invasion

The scraping of the gargantuan blade against asphalt is
A sweet lullaby, the same song that has soothed since
Childhood, an aural harbinger of joy, a sound inseparable
From anticipation and one that finally distracts the brain
Into unconsciousness or perhaps simply gives it the awaited
Signal to commence dreaming of the day to come

In the depths of rapid eye movement the scenes of powder
Runs past flicker as if projected in the Griswold attic
And the body prepares itself for duty, each limb twitching
With latent activity, each synapse making sure that the
Connections are secure, the need for immediate action
Requiring every molecule to be in optimal condition

In the wee hours of the morn, on a sojourn to relieve an
Overly hydrated body, the impetus to peek out of the window
Is stronger than the desire for surprise and one glimpse
At the maelstrom causes a giddy giggle and a sprint back
Into the cozy confines of flannel sheets and down comforter
For a few more hours of restful reverie

Conked into oblivion, the internal scenes far past the
Comprehension of rational thought, there is nothing
So effective at reanimating the prone and dormant
As the reappearance of that blessed snow removal machinery
With its telltale song, that charming metallic melody that
Functions as an ersatz alarm clock, a welcome shock awake

The driver pushes on distributing gifts like a reindeer-less
Santa, his hulking steed as loved by the ski bum as Blitzen
Is by the little nuggets, providing a needed mitzvah for the
Community that needs safe roads, but also a clear path
To those towering mountains that are totems and lodestars
For the close-knit tribe of snow sliders

Despair has given way to elation as the team flocks to
HQ, navigating the newly sanded roads with coffees in
Hand and stars in eyes, the ritualistic migration of
Animals who know themselves as such, attuned as
They are to these natural rhythms, even though
Susceptible of forgetting the cycle and thus continuing it