First Snow

I watch them

sliding slowly

on my windowpane,

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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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