First Fall

Curious the joy

that we take in a light

fall of snow.

Powdery, wet flakes

swirl down from the sky,

precursor to a curse

of worse to come.

For in the first fall

we think not

of the heartless cold

that creeps on our heels.

Rather, we flock to the streets,

phones in hand

to capture the magic;

work stops as play breaks out:

a snowball fight

between street workers

grinning like little kids.

There is worse weather to come,

yet we still find joy

in the magical first fall.

* * *

If you liked this poem, you can find more of my poetry, stories, and more at: Nathan Heard Words.