Six Days of Snow
Push aside the screen door and see strata upon strata of snow. Notice the elemental shifts in light, a palette of backlit whites lined with blue-gray where each snowfall stopped and the next started, a dutiful record of its own making. It is the laying on of snow upon sleep, upon bulbs put there by hands, upon tunnels through soil and the breathing fur within them. Snow laying itself down upon sleeping you, a sleep not solved by light. You through whom light fell onto me. That was how it happened once. Light fell through you, and I came awake.