I love the snow
lakes and rivers in their solid form
five months of pure white quiet
eventually retreats
into melt and mud
washouts and sandbags
water in all the wrong places
but soon enough
it all dries up
and dries and dries and burns
smoke and evacuation alerts
jagged nerves pray for
any kind of rain
until one day it falls
in soothing sprinkles
along with the pine needles
soft days and crisp nights
hold gentle anticipation
of the first snow
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