rime or reason

the gentlest curve of snowfall

looks to my eye like a curve of bone

salvaged from the woods

at the site of coyote kill.

way off in the corn field

the ladies line dance

to the tippy frigid cold

keeping balance precariously.

or is that me,

balancing sanity and foolishness

in this gray?

they seem to come closer

but my camera is playing the trick

and the lack of light 

and the snowfall

turn it into another kind of grain

the next day

still gray

but less airborne snow

and more earthbound snow

and corn ladies deeply bound.

i can get a little more personal

say a howdy

and shiver.

(my neck shivering despite the silk)

the weirdest snowfall left

rime

icing in the bitter cold.

a rain freezing

left another kind of trace

a powdery gray

on the grandmother maple.

rime.

umber gray on blue gray

gray and gray and then this afternoon

 late,

the sun shone

dancing on the weird snow carvings.

bringing out some colors 

through my window.
next week is winter break.
i'm grateful.