Snow in the Air

The nets now are mended,
the lobster pots dry:
fall has now ended,
there’s snow in the sky.

August berries are bottled,
November venison hung:
now clouds are grey-mottled.
Autumn’s song has been sung.

But though blizzards may come, and north winds scream,
children’s eyes are wide with the Christmas dream;
and beneath slate-grey skies, where storm clouds race,
young lovers speak low by a warm fireplace.
At the store, old men argue ‘round a pot-bellied stove,
and children now skate on the ice in the cove.
In the kitchen, the dog is curled up on the rug,
and the smell of home cooking makes people feel snug.

Old men sniff the air
(old men always know),
and say with a flair,
“Tomorrow she’ll snow.”

~James Douglas Fanning