clear and bright

seeing real snow pile up in the city for the first time
and I can't say I mind it.
even gray and packed dense on the train tracks
wet, dripping haphazardly off the roof of my building
forming odd, misshapen monuments
and resting fragile, untouched, still white
on tops of things like mailboxes
and parking meters
where no one has yet decided it's in their way.

and outside the window on the fourteenth floor,
snow-dusted trees blur the hard lines of the landscape like smoke
a pleasant enough change.