Snow tomorrow,
not first snow but
first plowable depth.

At some point tomorrow
you’ll be seated,
chin in hand, 

trying to guess
how bad the roads are
while regretting

unpurchased hot cocoa 
that would have made
for complete comfort

and safety in the living room
from which you watch 
a world slowly changing.

As things disappear into 
humps under snow
you will shake your head

at unprepared cars
slipping down hills
and around corners,

and you will feel again
the ancient fear:
what of everything I most love

will not reemerge
when this snow is gone,
when the winter is gone?