Not Three Unparked Cars

 

Blue/gray snow morning;
White flakes floating in my mind,
Soon to be falling.

 

A thick grinding sound
Passes by invisible;
Swiftly fades away.

 

One bobbing snow flake
Whisked up the road by the wind
Passes overhead.

 

The children are gone;

Maybe one child in a mile;
(What does the sign care?)

Not three unparked cars;
Blank spaces of they are not,
Have left their unmark.

 

Stones and logs are white;
Through trees pond is a blank sheet--
Late winter pallor.

 

They are teasing me,
These soft driving flakes of white,
Promising snow fall.

Pine branches dance
As wind blows deep from the woods,
Silent minuet.