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.

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