Powder Blessings
by MFrostDelaney

The chill of winter comes in gusty wind
that slices through the brilliant sun around
the brittle browning leaves whisked from the ground
as if the autumn season’s life has sinned
by stealing summer’s warmth. A breeze
is not enough to turn the page
from cookouts to the chill that sets the stage
for winter’s drop into the deepest freeze.

New England must have fall, the time when greens
in tree limb petals turn to red and gold
against the sky, horizons we behold
in weekend rides. This change of seasons preens
the atmosphere, prepares us for it’s fresh,
that spike of air that prickles in the nose,
makes us wrap up, especially hands and toes
so we embrace the frigidness and mesh
our attitudes with winter so we know
the glory of a dusting of fresh snow.