If you were reading a book, you
wouldn’t notice.
If the TV was blaring out the latest
news bulletin and you were taking in
all the allegations, anger and acrimony,
you would miss it.
Today the fabric of sky split,
releasing great globs of wet snow,
puffy white parachutes floating into
backyards, onto wide-brimmed hats,
landing gently on bald heads.
Soundless wonder.
Fat raindrops rattle the window panes.
Prickly north wind plays an eerie tune
as it whistles through cracks in the
back door. But elegant snow, sophisticated
snow, falls into human life without
announcement or approval. It claims
residence on cedars and catclaw vines
with regal grace, then waits to be admired
and photographed, the celebrity in town.
Dogs bury their noses and plow through
the soft mixture of cloud and water,
children turn somersaults and giggle
when snow sneaks under collars or
lands on noses. An old man in a
wheelchair watches from his living
room window, waving and wishing.
No one heard it arrive.
No one will hear its gradual departure.
Soundless snow.
Sonoran Desert Writer 