First Snow
I watch them
sliding slowly
on my windowpane,
harbingers
come to warn me
of impending winter,
stirring again
that memory
of plucked feathers,
as she called them,
swiftly enveloping
Grandma and me
on a hillside path.
I can still taste
that delicious
melting cold,
still hear her
laughing with me,
that great
explosion of joy.