Snow verses

(Written sometime in Jan 2013)

Snow
falls,
makes visible our river of winds,
becomes it, each blow and whim,
unlike the swift rain,
which pierces air and embodies gravity.
Rain falls, but snow flows,
gentle, unrushed, it takes the scenic route,
and in so doing it gives us a gentle scene
on our busy path.

Some flee it, and some feel it.
What difference does the order of its
letters cause in a word,
between being and not being
somewhere
somehow
somewho
anywho
anyhow
anywhere,
feel or flee.

What mysteries, these words,
spoken feelings,
we use them so often, in
our families, in our homes,
in our work, on the street,
in our computers, in our phones, in our brains...
they pave our understanding of the world,
of others...
but of ourselves?
Do they help us understand ourselves?
Ah, if I knew...
I might use the answer to decide
my path.
And maybe it is not in the action,
but in the intention, that meaning occurs.
Or is it in all?

Idyllic world I encounter,
just by stepping outside my door,
and doing what I want.
Vague purpose, yes.
Uncertain plan, yes.
But strong intention.
Not strong, just true.
Truth needs no strength,
it is just truth.
It is,
in contrast to the rest,
which is not.

And we might assume that the rest is,
is there,
is meaningful,
is ok for awhile,
but how many billions have never climbed back up that pit of illusion?
That convenient shortcut, that shiny distraction?
That comfortable nuisance one could bear forever?
First nuisance, then habit, then state absolute?
One forgets his intention in a myriad of diversions,
then only diversions remain,
piled high up over our tiny jewel of meaning.
Small, fuzzy,
but irreplaceable.
Unique.

You snow.
You playful little dancing fairies of cold.
You colden my body
but warm up my soul.
You tranquil it.
You remind me that whimsical, playful, and gentle
is also a way to be.
You're a dance of Nature.
Thank you, tiny frozen star-like dancers,
You help me be happier than I was.