Monday, March 2, 2009


Flurries swirl in wind's busy whorl:
the breeze has places to be.
In the early AM my campus ensconces in sorcerous beauty circles of terra-flesh's purity.
Bare white crystal carpets reflect and refract like twinkling piles of powdery stars.
Sidewalk grids are rid of their imperfections by coats of antipodal specks.
Glacial breath throws banks from rest, tosses them to the whirlwind.
Down they fell and up some flew.
Ducks gather together near the bridge-covered river (in a pond's perpendicular feather-edged obelisks of light) to freeze their feet.
Tree branches are brought low as clouds mist on Virginia's moist land.
Sounds are muffled.
The multitude of insects, steps, scruffs, scrapes, scratches, and rackets are silenced.
Those few noises remaining ring out smooth, slow.
Street-lining branches, they lay reclined as nodding heads in rocking chairs, call to mind funnel cakes coated with powdered sugar.
The unseen sun arcs light across the humbly shrouded sky, bounding about reflective surfaces, scattered by the millions of anti-dust particles (composed of water versus oil) a cavalcade of wondrous lightplay beyond what a club's laser-spray through machine-hissed fog can imitate.
This night's storm's subtle.
The flakes almost hang instead of fall.
Light cones are shown by the dots denoting their circumference.
Snow makes the scenery new.

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