through the window, snow.
A white world, smooth fields
ending in ugly piles, impossibly high,
reaking of the effort behind their making.
It is warm here and so very obviously cold there.
If I could wish it all away would I?
It is night now. Cold and dark.
But daylight is just around the corner,
and with the day will come the children.
Maybe the snow is for them,
and like everything else in their world,
we pay the price.
No, I would not wish it away.
It's a small price to pay.