Melting Joy

The first frost is always false.

Children squeal with tales of snow,

Magic feels imminent,

But it’s never quite cold enough

And unique snowflakes pool into puddles on the ground,

It fades into rain at some point in the night,

The memory of it fading too.

People wait excitedly for real snowfall,

The kind that children can play in,

They forget about what came and was not enough,

The snow forecast that proved to be simply a false alarm,

But what of joy is truly false?

Snow’s beauty is not in its permanence,

As the trees cover in frost,

And rivers turn to ice,

The first frost becomes but a glimpse of what was to come,

And fades into the night.