By: G. Louis Heath

The sky that Sunday spring evening
Curdled burnt-orange and salmon pink
Against a canopy of blue, a motley sky

Over fugitive snow, so evanescent as to
Defy my sense of what is. Snow takes
Its leave, shrugging off its powder-white

Cape, to transit the cycle of water and sky
Everlasting. I hear musical rivulets, sing a
Single burbling note, trickle the pavement,

Joyous to reach lake waters nuanced onyx
In the breeze. This never fails to excite me,
The morphing of my world, riffing to natural

Rhythms drummed into the land over infinite
Eons. These flowing paeans to the varying of
Time give back moisture to the land and bring

The miracle of dust rising to greet cool air. My
Children molded snow into the snow men who
Gave themselves up so they and dust might live.