We live in one of those places where people say, “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.” I wrote this when my daughter was eight, and I think about it every year at this time.

Spring Storm

When it begins she runs to the window
Wide-eyed, she lingers there
a piston pumping up and down
I imagine other children around the city
moving up and down at their windows
parts of a giant engine that would
make this fluff fall faster

Soon she is made to go to bed
She quivers quietly piled with quilts
Drifts off to dream blizzards
Blankets are laid on the lawn
in a beautiful slumber where
snowmen lumber around the yard
Where the school bus doesn’t slow
in front of the house
doesn’t show for days on end

Then the sun’s in the window
Day breaks into her room
She bolts from the bed
The world stills
Her face falls
Dogwood petals cover the driveway

© Eileen Ridge 2007
(2011 rev.)